Unit 507
by The Lord Of The Words
Summary: A story of a convict forced to join the Confederacy as a Marine against his will, caught up in the tides of the great battles throughout Starcraft, eventually only trying to survive against enemies of all the races, forming bonds with men and alien alike.
1. Drafted

**Note: I put a little Terran history in the beginning. Anyone who is familiar with Starcraft more than likely knows this, but I include it anyway, because fictional history is neato. Enjoy y'all!**

Unit 507

**Chapter 1:** Drafted

Deep in the endless chasms of space, amidst the stars themselves, and far away from the humble little planet called Earth, one would enter the Koprulu Sector. Also known to humans as the Terran Sector. A cluster of planets, far away from the Terran's native solar system. But though incredibly distant, it shares a common history, one that humans, it seems, cannot escape, no matter where they travel.

For there had been a lot of conflict in this place over the many years that humans had dwelled there, starting centuries ago with the Great Purification of the United Powers League, or the UPL on Earth. Their goal was to purge the planet of all those that differed from regular humans. Those that exhibited physical anomalies, those with cybernetic enhancements, criminals, synthetics and even more were slated for annihilation, four hundred million and more.

But a small group became part of a grand experiment meant to colonize planets beyond the Terran solar system. Sent out in interplanetary carriers, the prisoners in cold sleep met with an unfortunate twist of fate. When the navigational systems failed, the carriers wandered the stars for nearly thirty years, before crashing down on several hospitable worlds. These plants were in the Koprulu Sector.

Upon their arrival in that harsh new land, many terran colonies had been built and expanded over the course of the long years, and prosperity among them grew. But then, as one would expect, so did their military strengths, sparking conflict among neighboring worlds. Perhaps the best example of this comes from the planet Tarsonis, which founded their own government known as the Terran Confederacy many decades ago.

Fear of this powerful new regime spread, as Tarsonis was the largest most technologically advanced of all the Terran settlement. Other large colonies, such as the Morian cluster, a planet with the largest resource mining operations in the sector, grew nervous, believing the Confederates would attempt to use their power to subjugate them and others as well.

To avoid this, the Morian colony formed into the Kel-Morian Combine in order to stay independent. Tensions between these two factions ran high for a time, until it escalated into what was known as the Guild War, which raged for four years, ending with the Confederacy "negotiating" peace with the Combine.

As that conflict subsided, other certain colony's, such as the Umojan Protectorate, kept themselves separate, after seeing the Confederates use their influence to rule over all other territories, using their own significant military power as a deterrent. And because of the harshness of Confederacy law, it was not long before rebel forces began to arise, those that are known as pirate factions.

Perhaps the largest of which was the Rebellion of Korhal, which rose up, starting with Angus Mengsk, a Senator of the planet Korhal, one world within the Confederacy's control. He took charge of a rally, voicing the outcries of the oppressed people of the whole sector, straining against the Confederates leash. Eventually, after many attempts to buy off this dedicated delegate, Angus and his family were assassinated by Confederate Special Ops soldiers, called Ghosts, in order to quell this dangerous behavior.

Angus's son, Arcturus Mengsk, at the time a successful Confederate Prospector, became enraged at the cowardly actions of the Confederates, and took up arms against them, using his influence to rally supporters to his cause of revenge.

After numerous successful attacks on Confederacy outposts and bases, dealing significant damages, the Confederates had decided that enough was enough. In a merciless display, they launched a gargantuan salvo of nuclear missiles towards the world of Korhal, killing all life on the planet, and reducing it to a smoldering desert.

Arcturus was away when this happened, at his mobile base of operations, and yet, despite being labeled as a terrorist and a madman, he _still_ refused to quit. Arcturus and his remaining followers, now known as the Sons of Korhal, have kept up their actions of trying to bring down the Confederates. No matter the cost.

But enough of old times, events that happened far in the past. The events recorded here take place many years in the future. The Confederacy still stands unchallenged, ruling the Terran Sector however they see fit, suppressing and weeding out any who might oppose them. However there was a certain situation that caused great panic to the officials of the Confederacy on Tarsonis. It was in regards to the recent destruction of one of their outlying colonies and the appearance of an unidentified fleet of alien ships. Here is where we begin…

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Video Data Uplink…………Established

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Record Recall Software…………Online

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Transmitting in progress…………Date: December 10th, 2499

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Tarsonis…a thriving world, with massive cities, industrial complexes, and a booming trade industry. Not to mention, the homeworld of largest most powerful military force in the whole Sector. The headquarters of the Confederacy itself, self-proclaimed and prominent rulers of the Terran Dominion. With a robust population and a healthy supply of natural resources, it is a mighty stronghold, with planetary defenses and a heavy assortment of armed forces. Truly, it is a well-developed planet, full of order and lacking chaos.

On the outskirts of one of the many sprawling cities scattered across the planet, there is a large complex, stretching for miles and miles, rows of squat drab building, unsightly and gray, no windows, and few doors. There is a daunting concrete wall surrounding this place, with sentry towers posted here and there, men walking along the walls, rifles and other firearms in hand, their faces grim, as if just waiting for a chance to use them. It is one of such places that is used to keep that chaos in check.

Tarsonis's primary detention center, aptly named "The Bottomless Pit" to those that have ever ventured inside, with a multitudinous population, what with the Confederacy arresting any who dares violate standard colonial law. In other words, anyone they don't happen to like, they lock up. Simple. So, it was no surprise that this facility was filled to the brim with criminals of all sorts, those that were thrown in there to be taught a valuable lesson about challenging the Confederates, as well as the scourge of humanity, those that actually deserved to be locked away.

Deep in the bowels of one such building, there is a long stretching line of convicts, snaking through the hallways, marching forward, as quickly as they are able, what with being shackled at the ankles. They were waiting in this line, grumbling, smoking, and cursing. The room was dim, being only a few measly lightbulbs overhead putting out the barest of illumination. A dank pit, not fit to house rats, filled with mold, rot, and a putrid stench. It even had the cliché dripping water pipe in the background. Oh yes, it was all there.

To ensure that no trouble started between the greasy cons, fistfights or worse, there were numerous guards standing about, all as dire as there comrades, the ones watching the perimeter of the facility. They were armed with anything from blunt clubs, rifles, to electric shock prods. Many looked rather uncomfortable, what with the humid atmosphere and lack of fresh air. More than half of the convicts were smoking; cigars, cigarettes, and other things as well, things that may not have been deemed as actually smokable. Yet they were still trying nonetheless.

But just what was the purpose of these cons all standing in a row anyway? They were slowly being ushered to an adjacent room, being called in one at a time, though no one knew as to why. In prison, you're never told what's going on or why, you're just told what to do, and if you don't do it, you get your ass kicked. Simple.

Inside this mysterious room, things don't appear too different. There is a long wooden table on the opposite wall, with three men sitting behind it. They do not wear prison uniforms, or even the garb of the guards. No, these men were well dressed, suits with papers in front of them, as well as personal computer systems. All three of them didn't seem to like their surroundings too much. And they weren't shy about saying so.

"Can you believe this shit?" the first one groaned, pulling at his mangy tie, "We gotta sit here and interview these pieces of trash, all day? Look at this dump, it's a certifiable hellhole! And I gotta work in here? That's _got_ ta be a crime."

"Suck it up, you whining bastard…" said another, swabbing his brow, and then wiping the sweat on his pant leg, "It's what we're paid to do. Beside, I happen to find it rather satisfying to know that I'm sending them out to probably get their heads blown off or something."

"Yeah, I guess that does make me feel a little better. We're doing our part to make the world a better place for all of us. Alright, I'm finished with this one…" He ceased his scribbling, then turned to nod towards the third man. In turn, he glanced at the guard at the door. "Okay, bring in the next one…" The sentry at the gate nodded, and turned towards the console, beginning to tap in the access code.

"Though this job _is_ crappy, at the very least we can make it a little interesting…Ten bucks says this next guy is even uglier than Inmate #462…"

"I'll take that bet…No one can be uglier than that motherfucker unless they intentionally have surgery to do it." With the proper code input, the door opened with a whir and click, and their newest meat was all but shoved inside, the steel door clanging shut behind him.

He was an interesting looking man, and most certainly not uglier than the aforementioned inmate. His garb was the familiar orange jumpsuit accompanying all criminals of the prison. Not to mention the same leg shackles as well as metal arm clamps, keeping his hands in front of him. But though he was dressed identically to all the rest, his appearance suggested that he wasn't quite the same as them.

His eyes were dark, hidden in the shadows, and his hair was no lighter, a slick sweaty black, tied up in a miniature ponytail, dangling down to his shoulders. He was strong looking, quite muscular, but not nearly to the same bulging extent as others that had passed through that door before him. One crucial and noticeable thing was that his face wasn't the same. Not the beefy heavy countenance, with the dour scowling grimace, one that made him look seconds away from drooling.

No, his face was narrow, and controlled. And while it wasn't exactly a glower, his expression didn't seem all that cheerful. If anything, he was hostile, glaring at guard as he passed, and then turned that wrath filled gaze towards the three men sitting at the table.

One might have considered him to be somewhat of a rugged pretty boy, with the exception of two large scars across his face. One was at the corner of his right eye, sloping upward, disappearing under his hairline. The other was along the left side of his neck, curving towards his trachea. Almost as if someone had attempted to slash his throat, but had botched the attempt. All and all, he looked a like a nasty fellow and one tough customer, with a clear quiet anger within, just itching to get out.

He gradually stepped forward into the light, in a slow gait, the chains around his feet rattling. His pace was very calm and unhurried, almost like a stroll. And even with the tension around, he didn't seem nervous. As if he wasn't worried about what this whole ordeal pertained to, but not thrilled in the least that he was here at all. Unhappy that he had lost his bet, one of the Warrant officers gave a snort, handed over the money to his counterpart, and turned towards his computer monitor where new information was being brought up.

"Sit," one of the deputies instructed. The con didn't move at first, giving a little snicker instead. Then when the guard behind him began to advance, he stepped around the simple metal chair, and eased himself down, leaning back, all but lounging in it. The officers traded looks, and a long silence followed, as they reviewed his file…

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**Inmate:** #1,239

**Name:** Logan R. Stone

**Sex:** Male

**P.O.B:** Tarsonis

**D.O.B:** 07/13/2473

**Height:** 6'2

**Weight:** 253lbs.

**Former Occupation:** Confederate Regional Correspondent

**Criminal Records**

_**Murder:**_ XXXXX - NSC92572 GT

**_Grand Theft:_** XXXXX - 080910 ST

_**Trespassing on Restricted Area:**_ XXXXX - KOS37721 ST

_(No Parole)_

-- Sentence: Imprisonment (Suspended) --

Terran Marine Military Status: --Active--

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After taking in all the necessary info, they at last turned back to him. The con was waiting, cool as ice. Not fidgeting, not grumbling at the wait, just sitting, as still as death, and just staring directly back at them, his face unchanging. Such calm behavior was rather odd for a condemned criminal.

"Logan Stone," one deputy addressed, "You have been prosecuted and convicted by a colonial Marshall of three crimes, all of which are very serious…"

"Says you…" Logan interrupted, still glaring, eyes sweeping back and forth across the panel of men before him. The officer, though not liking to have an intrusion in his speech, went on with a disdainful expression, "They are…Murder in the first degree, of one Captain William Barkley. Grand Theft, of the hijacking of a licensed star vessel, and Trespassing on to a Restricted Area."

"Oh, how terrible of me. I'm so bad…"

"And because of these crimes, and for the safety of all humanity, you have been incarcerated into this facility, with other dangerous criminals. What do you…"

"Dangerous criminals…" Logan again broke in, musing in a clearly cynical way, "Do you happen to know Carter Donaldson? He come through here yet? He's serving a sentence the same length as me. Hah, and all _he_ did was forget to fully recharge the power reactor to a starship's engine, causing it to shut down in the middle of a _training exercise_…How dangerous indeed…But that seems quite normal for you…Confederates."

"Shut up!" one of the officers shouted, "You are not here to make chitchat, you sorry piece of…"

"Then quit with all the preaching you windbag, and get to the point of why all us cons _are_ here, and why _I_ should give a shit about any of this." The three officers were getting very annoyed at this attitude being turned their way, but they held their tempers down. The man in the center cleared his throat.

"Very well. Despite your serious crimes, and your substantial sentence, all criminals currently in this facility, as well as several others across the Confederate borders, their sentences are currently suspended, a decision passed down by the high officials of the Confederacy government. They feel it is necessary to sure up their power in the Sector, by any means necessary. Therefore, you and every other suckhole in this place are to rejoin the outside world as Confederate military soldiers, due to the current situation taking place. Furthermore…"

"Excuse me, not to be _rude_ and interrupt, but what situation would that be? As you might not have guessed, but we don't exactly have access to UNN in here. Or any other good channels, for that matter."

"All new recruits will attend an in-depth debriefing after the initial screening process to determine your station. Other information will be given to you upon reaching your assignment."

"So," Logan commented, with a wry smile of understanding, "We're being sent out to die for the _glory_ of the Confederacy. To get shot to pieces just so you three can sit here and continue your lovely little jobs, and the higher ups get to continue their defilement and molestation of the people under their heel. That's what I call a noble cause. Almost as noble as removing my own eyes with a rusty fork. Not quite, but almost…"

"Your cynicism is darling," one deputy responded, "But such vaunted hatreds…it certainly won't do on the battlefield. Therefore, you and every other piece of garbage out there will be put through Neural Resocialization, to make your moral outlook and views of the Confederacy much more…favorable. In other words, once you go through that, you will gladly give your life for the most meaningless of tasks. Personally, I think it will do me some good to know that you're brain is going to be all but fried."

"And you're also probably looking forward to me getting my head blown off, I suppose? Terrific. I bet your mother is _real_ proud of you." They ignored this.

"Any questions before we send you out to go through the necessary preparations?" Logan lifted his glare up, there being a smoldering fury in them, right behind his dark eyes. The Warrant officers, despite having been at this sort of job a long while, flinched, as that stare was full of thoughts of murder. But not wild savage butchery. Cold and calculating. Unnerving to say the least.

"Just one. Are you three dipshits out of your fucking minds? I'm _in here_ because those goddamn Confederacy assholes stabbed me in the back, and used me as a scapegoat to cover their own asses! And you think I'm going to agree to strap on a military insignia of that pack of lying bastards, and risk _my_ neck to help the ones that fucked up my life, just so they can keep their oppressive control? I'd just as soon cut my own head off and throw myself off a hundred-story building. Get yourself another lackey you pricks."

"All convicts of this and every other facility have been approved for their military transfer. There is _no_ refusing for you. You do it, and after Resocialization, you'll be damn happy about doing it too. That's all there is to it."

"Fuck you!" With a yell Logan leapt up, and though he was still bound at both the ankles and arms, attempted to charge and scale across the table. One of the officers called out, "Guard, stop him now!"

Responding at once, the nearby sentinel stepped forward with a club, and walloped Logan right across the mouth, knocking him to the floor.

"Any more retarded stunts like that, and we'll have you hauled away to the Nerulizer, and have your brain defragged. Do I make myself clear?"

Logan was yanked to his feet and jostled back into the chair, his head lolling around. Though there was blood running down his chin in a steady stream, he still held onto that defiant look, almost baring his teeth at those who represented what he loathed so deeply. He gave what could almost be considered a sarcastic nod.

"You will also be required to take an intelligence test and a physical before you are issued you equipment. Following that will be the debriefing and the distribution of assignments to all active armed units. Welcome to the Confederacy military…_soldier_. Get this piece of filth out of my sight."

Another door opened, and two new guards came in, grabbed hold of Logan, and all but dragged him out of the room. The door closed behind him, locking with a loud clang. With his departure, the three officers let out long breaths. Throughout the course of the day, there had been some scary bastards that sat in front of them, cold blooded killers and psychopathic bastards, but still, _that_ was one of the most intense sessions they had gone through.

"Shit," said one, wiping the sweat off his bald head, "That fucker was out of his mind. I'd say he's got some serious personality issues to iron out."

"Probably," said another, who was also cleansing himself of perspiration, "But it doesn't really matter…"

"I don't like him," said the third, glaring at the door their recent con had exited through, "He's a crazy asshole, nutty as they come."

"You know, some people say the same thing about you…"

"Kiss my ass. But I still don't like him. His attitude doesn't sit right with me. I say we assign him to the most dangerous location we got, and pray he gets his ass blown up."

"Come on, you know it doesn't really matter what _we_ say. As is standard procedure, we make only our own _recommendations_ as to where he should be sent, after assessing his personality. But ultimately, it's the intelligent test, not to mention the whims of the generals of the military that make the final call. There's no telling where he ends up, regardless of what _we_ say."

"I'm in here ain't I? You don't need to explain it to me like I'm back in the classroom! And besides, there's no harm in trying. So…what's the most active spot out there right now? That fringe world planet right?"

"Mar Sara…yes, that was the other threatened colony. And I am inclined to agree with you. Someone who has such blatant hatred towards the Confederacy, it would be best all around for him to be eliminated quickly. No sense in spreading bad karma throughout the ranks. That only leads to trouble."

"But after Resocialization, it isn't going to matter anyway…Just dump him anywhere, and lets get to the next one. After that, I'm going on break and getting a smoke."

"Heh, if you want some fumes, then just stick your head out into the hall, and take a big whiff. Saves you the money."

"Shut up you fag, and write that report."

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_O__ut in the hallway..._

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After being forcibly removed from the screening room, Logan was "escorted" down the labyrinth of hallways and passageways. As both he and the guards went on, they passed by other cells, where even more cons were waiting their turn. They traded looks as they past, some giving nasty grins. They continued through a covered walkway, connecting adjacent buildings, moving on to the next phase of Logan's journey. Though, he wasn't very happy about it.

_No way_, he told himself, _No goddamn way I'm going to do anything for these fuckers. I won't do it, and they can't make me either…When we get to the Resocialization chamber, I'm going to make a run for it. I'd rather get shot full of holes here and now than to do anything to help them. I just wish…_

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he was jerked to a stop. Getting ready to make a move, Logan paused, only to see that he wasn't at the Resocialization system just yet. Instead, the guards had been stopped by another enforcer, who was motioning them down another corridor.

"This one goes to visiting room #3 first. He's got someone who wants to see him before his Resocialization."

"Hear that," one guard sneered, "Someone wants ta see ya before you're brain gets melted. You should feel honored…"

And so, on they went, now there were three guards around him, and Logan knew he would be overpowered quickly and wouldn't need to be shot should he make any attempt here. Besides, his curiosity was slightly aroused, wondering…who had come to see him? Who? After all, he was a condemned murderer, the few remaining traces of family had made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with him any more. So then…?

The visiting area looked nothing like the rest of the prison. There were actually lights here, and things were halfway decent looking. Not to mention that everything, the doors, walls, the furniture, all of it, looked practically new. This was due to the simple fact that people sent to this institution did not receive many visitors, hence the rooms were virtually unused. This was in fact, Logan's first time being here.

The guards lead him into the awaiting room, and sat him down at the chair. This particular room wasn't like the other means of visiting. It wasn't the convict on one side of a glass wall, the visitor on the other, the two communicating with a phone system. No, this was a room, that both the criminal and the guest could be in at once. Naturally, it could be risky, unless you had nothing to fear from the convicted. All that was in the room was a metal table, and two chairs, facing one another. Logan was shoved once again into his chair, immediately giving the towering guard a curled lip sneer.

"You better put that lip away," one warned him, "Else I'm gonna make it fat and bloodied!" Logan did nothing to change his expression.

"Alright, you asked for it!"

"That's not necessary guard," came a suave voice, coming from outside the door, "Please reframe from such threats. I'll just need a few minutes." Both guard and criminal turned towards the voice. The door opened slowly, and from out of the shadows, into the room stepped…


	2. The Good Friend

**Chapter 2:** The Good Friend

"Matthew Donavan," Logan muttered, a faint smile creeping across his lips. In walked another young fellow, about the same age as Logan, though his appearance was not quite so disheveled and repugnant.

Dressed in a fresh white suit, pressed and neat, with a baby blue dress shirt beneath that, hands in his pockets in a nonchalant type way, he appeared very important. His short blonde hair was cut almost to his scalp, and a pair of golden spectacles sat high on his nose. He entered the room, his stylish black shoes clicking on the concrete floor, and stepped over to the table, returning the grin with one of his own.

"You have three minutes Mr. Donavan," a guard grunted at him, "then we gotta take him down to Resocialization. So make it quick."

"I'll talk as long as I please," Matthew informed the sentry matter-of-factly. "You may leave us alone."

"What? Hey now, I can't do that, and don't you be tellin' me what ta…" He got no further when Matthew turned towards him, his own expression hostile.

"Let me ask you, do you have _any_ clue as to who I am?" He pulled out a Confederate badge, proclaiming his station as a Confederate Proactive Militant Executive, a high station indeed. "So, unless you are really confident about successfully weathering the results of raising _my_ ire, then I highly suggest that you gentlemen leave now, and return to your other duties. I will alert security when I am finished, so that he may resume his journey to Resocialization. Good day."

Not wanting to get fired or perhaps arrested themselves, both possible outcomes of getting on someone of this rank's wrong side, the guards shrank away from this prominent official, and proceeded to slink out of the room, and back the way they had come. That left the two of them alone.

"I guess it's true after all," Logan commented, "It _does_ pay to have friends in high places."

"That's how the system works. But unfortunately not quite high enough in this case..." Matthew sighed, and sat down himself, across from Logan. "So…how have you been holding up in here?"

"As one would imagine. Watching my back constantly, fighting for my life on a daily basis, struggling to keep my sanity. You know, all that fun stuff."

"Well, it would seem that this place hasn't yet robbed you of your cynical streak. That's comforting." He paused, his face, which had been full of nostalgia, altered into seriousness. "You know why I'm here?" Logan nodded, and leaned back in the chair, tossing his head to the right.

"I can guess. But you _do_ know that everything you say is being recorded right?"

"Not to worry…One doesn't achieve the position I'm in without learning how to issue a bribe or two." He nodded towards the ceiling corner. The surveillance camera was off, there being no little red light indicating that it was recording. "What is said in here, no else is going to know."

"I see. Well then, judging from your lackluster expression, I'd wager a guess that you're not here to bail me out."

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry Logan, I did everything I could, but…I can't have you acquitted of the charges against you unless I have some manner of proof to collaborate my claim. I've done all the digging I can, but what with these new orders for the integration of all convicts into the military system…my time was cut a bit short."

He became silent, the two of them sitting there, finding it hard to make eye contact. Not surprising, as the purpose of this visit was to convey depressing news. And to see each other again, it was difficult. The rich successful man, and his friend, who had been just like him not long ago. But now he in chains, and significantly more buff and dirty. It seemed unfair, but it was just how it was. The silence was thick, until Logan shifted in his uncomfortable chair, and shrugged.

"So…that's it? I figured I shouldn't get my hopes up…"

"I'm sorry Logan…I really am…If there was something else I could do…"

"Well, since you offered, you can try and keep me here locked up, instead of getting those assholes to send me out to fight for them. Because there's no way in hell that I'm going to do that."

"I know, and I already figured that's what you'd say when I heard the orders myself. But I already tried that, and it's a no go. These commands are of the highest order, and there are to be no exceptions for _any_ criminals in the system. Even some that are sickly and injured are being brought up to be sent out. Apparently, the Confederacy is pretty shook up about the goings on out on the fringe worlds. Quite frankly…so am I."

"And what exactly would that be? I'm not very well informed in here."

"That goes for me too, you know. I'm not military, so I'm not into all the armed forces channels. I've only listened to stories and rumors about the happenings, but from what I've heard…only two days ago…the colony of Chau Sara was completely wiped out."

"What? You're shitting me right?"

"I'm afraid not. As I said, I'm not military, so I am not privy to all the specifics, but from what I've been told, some unidentified alien ships came out of nowhere, and incinerated the entire planet completely with a spatial bombardment. It's gone."

Logan growled at this, running his fingers through his hair. Though he appeared rather uncaring about the news, he too was shaken. Aliens for one thing, that was unexpected enough…But to blow up an entire colony…There was no telling how many had died because of it. And this news didn't do much in making him feel any better.

"Well, that just fucking made _my_ day. And now, I've even _less_ inclined to go out there. And they figure they have to reinforce their positions now? I swear, the Confederacy acts like they got their thumbs up their asses. Oh well, that doesn't really matter…First chance I get, I'm probably going to cause a riot and see if I can't get myself shot…Saves me the trouble."

"Logan! No, you can't do that!"

"And why the fuck not? If I don't do it, I'll be put through Resocialization right after we're done here, and have my head twisted around so that I'll love the Confederacy, and will be willing to throw my life away for them. After everything they've done to me, I'd rather be bleeding to death on the floor of this shithole than to let that happen…"

"I am _aware_ of that, and that's precisely why I'm here." Matthew pulled out of his white suit a piece of paper, folded it, and slid it across to his friends bound hands. Logan eyed it. "And that is?" Matthew shrugged with a glint in his eyes, his glasses refracting light.

"Your official Resocialization completion transcript. Written proof that you, Logan Stone, had successfully gone through and completed the Resocialization process, and are ready to be deployed into immediate military action." At this, Logan jumped, and snatched up the paper, unfolding it as quickly as his bound hands would allow, and scanned the print. It was indeed true. He then looked over the page towards his friend.

"How'd you come up with this?"

"Oh, document forgery isn't all that tough, you just need to know the little tricks that make the paper official. With that, no one will ever know that you bypassed Resocialization completely."

"You're kidding right? You don't think that this seriously will work do you? With my attitude, it will only take them all of five minutes to realize that I _haven't_ been through it Resocialization program. And they'll send me right back again."

"Of course it _will_ work. If you're up for a little acting..."

"Acting? Forget it, that's not happening…"

"Come on! Logan, look," Matthew leaned forward, "You are my friend, and you've been my friend for a _long_ time now. We worked together, and we've done business together. I wasn't able to intervene when you first got arrested, but I promised myself that I would give you whatever aid I could when I had the power to do so. This is what I've gotten for you."

"But it still means I'm going to get my ass torn up out there…"

"Look, I tried to get you acquitted of the crimes, but I couldn't do it in time. Then, I tried to get you out of this military deployment, but that wasn't working either. I also knew that you would harbor deep feelings of hatred for the Confederacy, and would sooner kill yourself than to consort with them in anyway. Therefore, I figured the best thing I could do at the moment was to help keep your brain away from their mind-altering programs."

"Always on the look out for my brain, huh Matt?"

"If anything, it will help you keep your regular senses when you're deployed wherever. It also means that maybe, just maybe you can get yourself away, and start over. Soldiers go AWOL all the time, many of which escape and are never found. I know it's not much, but please…All you have to do is act like you are loyal to the Confederacy until you get sent out. Then, it's a simple matter of waiting. And I doubt they'll send you to anywhere that's too hazardous. There are plenty of those huge stupid convicts that can handle _that_. After you ace the intelligence test, they'll see you're more valuable alive, and probably place you in an area with minimal security. They won't send a smart guy like you out to do all the heavy fighting. After that, it's just waiting…"

Logan looked over the paper in his hands again. He knew his friend was right. The plan sounded like it made sense, it did seem like a _very_ plausible option. It was true that he did not want to serve the Confederacy in any way, shape, or form, but he also knew that it was true that he did not want his brain altered that would force him into cooperation. What his friend was doing was noble indeed. And risky…

"You know…it's a possibility that they're going to trace this order back to you… If someone happens to get curious…what then? I won't be having you risk your own neck just to help me out of this particular jam." Matthew gave him a grin.

"I thought you had more faith in my skills than _that_ Logan. It's been taken care of. Should anyone decided to check up on the records, due to suspicion or whatever, they'll find that it won't lead to me, but to some other executive higher up on the ladder." Logan raised an eyebrow at him.

"And would this person deserve it?"

"In more ways than you can count, I promise you."

"That's okay then. Well…shit, you sorry worthless bum…I…I don't know what to say. To think you like me enough to do something like this. I feel like you're proposing to me or something."

"Whoa now, down boy! I figured you'd be exposed to some new things in here, but come on! I don't swing _that_ way!

"Ah, shut up," Logan gave a sigh, shaking his head, "What the hell, I guess I can play along for a little while and see where it gets me. When I get loose, I'll come back and buy you a drink or something."

"Sounds like a plan. I've already had the data integrated into the computer system. All that is left is for you move on to the intelligence test and the physical. After that, you'll get your briefing and be sent on your way. I'll have the guards send you there when you leave."

"Well, it seems like I got a full day of fun ahead of me. Whoopee."

"Sounds like it…I guess that's it…You ready?"

"As ready as a convict pretending to like the Confederacy will ever be…"

"Alright. Remember, try and keep a level head, and do nothing to blow your cover, otherwise you'll have your head messed with, and that is something you don't want to happen. Believe me."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." The two men rose, and reached across the table, shaking hands, a bit awkward with Logan's bound hands.

"See you later," Matthew said, giving Logan a nod.

"Ah, quit with the good-byes already. Makes you seem like a sissy. Just call the guards and let's get on with this goddamn charade." Matthew gave one last grin, then stepped over to the door panel, hitting the call button. A few minutes later, two new guards came in, eyeing the prisoner and the guest.

"I'm all done in here, "Matthew told them, "You can take him down to the Aptitude department."

"All convicts are to report to the Resocialization area to go through the proper…" Matthew nodded, waving his hand impatiently. "Yes yes, I _know_ how this process works. However, I think it would be rather pointless to send the man through it _again_," he held out the official computer printout, "when you have _so_ many others to Resocialize." The sentry took the paper, read over it carefully, glancing at Logan. After a few moments, he shrugged, and handed the paper back. "Fine. You…get your ass over here."

It was Logan's turn to shrug, and stepped over, giving one last look towards his friend, one that said, _See you later dipshit_, but in a good way, and was escorted down the hall by the new guards. Whom were complaining…

"Lucky son of a bitch…getting a buddy like that. Highest level friend I got is a janitor on the Central Command Committee platform. Shit, how'd a scumbag like you get connections like that?"

"You know, it might surprise you to learn that I wasn't exactly a convicted felon when I was born…I did do _other_ things."

"Yeah, a lot a good it did ya too! An' I already knew that ya dumbass! Speakin' of which, we're about ta find out how dumb ya really are! Here we are! The Smarts ward. Have fun!" And after opening the door, they kicked him inside and left, grunting and snickering.

"Assholes," Logan growled after them.

"Well well," came a high pitched whine, "What's all this here?" Swiveling his eyes skyward, Logan saw that he was at the feet of someone extraordinarily tall, wearing unsightly gray slacks and a flimsy white laboratory coat. The man overhead was staring down peering through a pair of bottle spectacles. "A lone con being sent into here? Why is it that those damn Resocialization imbeciles have to send me their finished subjects a couple at a time? It is _so_ much more efficient to perform the testing in a group. Oh well, no sense in complaining, not to _them_ anyway. You down there! Stand up!"

Logan regained his feet, and yet, he was _still_ staring upward into the face of this man. Logan himself was six foot two, but this technician towered far over him. He had to be at least seven foot three. But though tall, he was skinnier than a rail. Behind the glasses, his eyes were exceptionally wide and buggy, his thin cracked lips twitched in involuntary spasms, and he seemed to be jittering from some unobservable problem as he stood there. High-strung nerves and tension were no doubt his constant companions. All in all, both his manner and appearance led to the probable conclusion that he was presumably rather anal regarding just about everything.

"Hmm, by the look of you, you are _far_ more intelligent than the rest of the lot that have come through here. But I suppose there is only one way to find out. This way…" And amazingly, the scientist like fellow turned his back on the convict and began to shamble across the floor. Logan was surprised that he was so trusting, as Logan, restrained or not, could have easily taken him out. Since he was trying to remain undercover though, he chose not to test this.

"By the way," the scientist paused, turning back, "Why haven't your restraints been removed yet? All Resocialized men are to be de-shackled at the facility." Logan thought quickly.

"Well, prior to that, I was what you might call a ball of fire, and they felt safer with me tied up. Maybe they intentionally sent me on my way like this for kicks."

"Hmm, certainly sounds like those lazy fools. Very well then, step over here…" He waved a hand towards a corner, where several machines were placed. Stepping into the appropriate slots, two mechanical arms shot out and with a whir, grind, and a cloud of sparks, his armbands were undone. This was followed directly by his feet. It was certainly nice indeed to have his full mobility restored.

"Now then, this way…" The technician stepped through the chamber, weaving in and out of other stations. Each station consisted of a simple computer terminal, at which sat other cons, typing on the screen, no doubt filling in the much-hyped intelligence test. Logan was shown to an empty cubical, and motioned to sit.

"Here. As you have no doubt been informed, this is the Aptitude examination that will ultimately determine the location of you new military station."

"I don't suppose it will help to tell you that I've never been anything near a soldier before, so I doubt I'll make a good keeper of the peace. Perhaps you have a nice research position available?" The technician gave him a blank stare.

"If that's _really_ the case, then you sound as if you'll make a fine decoy, if nothing else. The results of these tests will determine where you are to be stationed. That's all there is to it."

"Goodie. Fine, let's get this done, so that I can move on."

"Certainly. The computer will bring up the program momentarily, you may begin when it starts. Best of luck to you…" And off he went, shambling away, his neck twitching as if brushing off flies…flies that weren't really there. Logan made himself comfortable, waiting for the screen to boot up. As he waited, his mind wandered…

Back to a time when he hadn't been in such a hellhole, when he had his freedom on the outside. When he had gone drinking with Matthew and his other buddies after work. His going out with his girlfriend, the two of them perfect for one another, going back to his apartment for some hot sex. His job, which he enjoyed immensely…his family, those that still remained…everything. God, how he missed it all…

He came back to himself, and gave his head a shake. He knew that thinking and dwelling on all the past injustices was only going to get him in trouble by blowing his camouflage. Deep down, he knew that the _only_ way to perhaps get some trace of that life back now was to keep up this deception until he managed to slip away. It may take some time, but it wasn't as if he was lacking that.

Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts, the computer clicked on, and displayed the pale blue screen with white lettering, exhibiting the opening instructions. _First things first_, said he to himself, stretching his legs. _I have to get the high score with this, get some cushy assignment, and bust out and get my freedom back. _

Getting right into it, he was amazed at how easy the test really was. He was smart, sure enough, but the questions were basic things, regarding mechanical components of certain basic regulation operating systems for transit vehicles, standard elemental compositions, and rudimentary mathematical problems. Child's play. Almost literally.

Still, as long as he had been in prison, and meeting a good number of other cons, he wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that many had failed the test. Most just didn't give a shit, while others were _really_ that dense.

"Yo Bubble-Gum, get ya tight ass over here!" Logan peeked away from his monitor, glancing around the room. Across the way, standing at another terminal was a notorious criminal, and one that Logan knew. Jack Riley, a half-crazed man-hunter, a felon with six counts of murder on his rap sheet, with probably another dozen or so crimes as well. Logan was thankfully on good terms with him, as though Logan was pretty tough himself, _nobody_ on the cellblock would intentionally tangle with Jack, opting to be on his good side rather in his path.

Surprising, Jack was a pretty neat guy, savage murderer or not, only being a scary bastard to someone who gets on his nerves. To anyone else, like Logan for instance, he was a decent fellow, rough around the edges and a bit of a smart-ass, but tolerable. And currently, he was waving his hands and grinning towards the lanky scientist that was shuffling back and forth across the room, occasionally looking over convict's shoulders to check their progress. At Jack's summon, his already creepy large eyes bulged, and he let out a high pitched yell.

"Will you _stop_ calling me that, you lummox! My name is Dr. Furgus! Furgus, not Bubble-Gum! Why can't you uncouth simians be given some decent manners in the Resocialization process?"

"Yeah well, I wouldn't know shit 'bout that. But look here! I'm done! See?"

"I'd say that it is about time. You've been in here for over an hour and a half. It shouldn't take one longer than twenty minutes to finish such a embryonic examination!"

"Ya, about that…I don't think I did so good Doc. I don't suppose I could get ya to…change a couple of my answers, huh?" The technician only gave him that straight dry-lipped expression as a wordless response.

"Come on…I don't wanna be thought of as an idiot. Can't ya help me out a little?"

"Cease your whining, fledging worm! You will be assessed at how much you know, just is everyone else. Now, please move on to the physical…"

"Ah man, and I was just startin' tha like hangin' around you Doc!

"Begone at once, you are raising my temper, and holding me back from my work!"

"Jeez, don't fuckin' beg me ta stay or nothin'." He strode to the nearest door, but gave the gangly professor a wave. "See ya later Bubble-Gum!"

The scientist, Dr. Furgus, it now being perhaps apparent as to where his nervous condition came from, began to seethe with fury, a massive vein poking from his forehead, his face turning as red as the closest star.

"_GET THE HELL OUT OF MY LABORATORY, YOU PRIMORDIAL ANTHROPOID!"_ Jack popped out, and went on his way, several of the other cons snickering, while Logan watched the unfolding spectacle with fascination. And it provided him with some useful information.

_Interesting_, he thought with a smile, _all Resocialization seems to do is makes your outlook on the Confederacy more favorable. Though that is more than I could stand…Still, Jack acted the same as he always did. It seems that one can still make jokes and even be a major asshole without arousing suspicion. That will certainly make this illusion easier to maintain. Maybe I'll test it…_

He opted not to try anything with the good doctor, as he was now panting for air, the amount of force used for him to scream at such intensity was physically fatiguing. Besides, out of all the people thus far in this military enterprise, he had been the most patient and civil. Not to mention, that any more exertion looked like it would kill him.

After another two minutes, waiting only to give Dr. Furgus a chance to cool down, Logan raised his hand, signaling that he was done. He was somewhat disappointed, truth be told. He had been hoping for something that would give his mind a bit more of a workout. It was, after all, the first real exercise his brain had been given since his imprisonment. Eventually, after stalking about for a bit, Logan was noticed.

"Aha, so you _are_ smart after all? Or did you merely intentionally miss each question?"

"Hmm…What do you think?"

"Oh, we have a clever tongue don't we? Well, I have my suspicions, but we shall see. Very well, you may move on." Without a word, Logan rose, stuffed his hands into his prison uniform pockets, and sauntered down the same dim hallway that Jack had gone down.

--

--

Aptitude Examination…………Complete

--

--

Not too much further, he met up with Jack, who was standing at the back of a short line, waiting to see one of the many doctors for the required physical. It would seem that he was growing closer to the end of his journey. The other criminals were smoking, and slowly but steadily, the line was moving.

"Shit, this is takin' forever," Jack growled, looking around some other guys in front of him. He then glanced behind at Logan, who was currently at the back of the line. "You don't think they got some hot ass doctor's in there, do ya? You know, all innocent and shit, with those short skirts, and big fuckin…"

"Doubtful, but hey…A guy can dream."

"Fuckin' A! I'll smoke ta that!" Which he did. One by one, they were shown into the room, and eventually Logan found himself sitting on the examination table. Unfortunately, there was no hot doctor here, just some young guy, maybe fresh from the academy. Who didn't appear to be thrilled at his current occupation. Probably, he had hoped that when he became a doctor, he'd check up on female patients, rather than huge greasy smelly convicts. Just one more of the worlds injustices. Reflected in his near monotone voice.

"Alright…Name."

"Your mamma." Logan was going to put his theory that he could still behave like a complete douchebag to the test here, by being the biggest possible prick for this young guy. Not because he actually was one, or because that this kid deserved it. It was just as good a time as any to find out.

"Look, I've had a _long_ day, and I still got about another hundred of you sweaty cons to check up, so could we please make this easy for both of us?"

"Sure thing doc. Man, for you to be in here, checking up on all us manly men…you must be pretty damn dedicated. Either that or you're the mother of all queers." Once more the doctor gave him a glare, and shook his head. "Mr…Stone? Alright, I need you to remove your uniform to check your vitals. Following that is a urine test and a shot."

"Sure thing. Although…I gotta tell you, I'm a little iffy about showing my junk to some man-slut like you. You might try and rape me or something…"

"Strip please…"

"Ooo, you like to be in control. Should I do it slowly?"

"Just so long as you do it, and get out of my clinic." Logan complied, removing the uniform, and let the doctor perform the full physical inspection. All the while, Logan made several suggestive sounds that made the doctor both grimace and shudder. When he was done, he pulled back, taking off his instruments, and turned to input everything into the nearby computer, and scratched some other info on paper.

"You may put your pants back on…Now I'll need a urine sample…" he gestured towards one of the containers on the counter. Logan pulled his orange pants back up, but crossed his arms.

"Oh, I don't know…I don't tend to piss all that well when someone's watching. I get…all nervous. Besides, I'm not into all the kinky stuff like you…" The doctor was beginning to crack, his patience was slipping.

"Look you testosterone filled meat-wad! Shut your damn mouth, piss in the cup, and get the hell out of my face!"

"Well, since you said please…Alright." Logan unscrewed the plastic cup, turned away and unzipped his uniform, and got a steady stream going. It didn't take long for the little container to be filled, but he didn't stop, and kept on going, the excess spilling on to the floor. "Stop stop, what the hell are you doing?"

"You said fill it up, so I'm filling it up. Besides, I can't just _stop_ on command, I gotta finish! Ah, there we go." Nonchalantly, Logan sealed up the completely full plastic cup, and offered it to the doctor. "Here you go, and it still piping hot." The doctor took it with a disgusted expression, then gestured to the substantial puddle of urine on the floor.

"Clean that up right now!" Logan contemplated it.

"Hmm, naw…I'm being released to fight…not mop. You handle it little man." The young doctor was close to being infuriated, beginning to develop nervous spasms of his own, his right eye twitching and fidgeting. Instead of breaking down, he grabbed up the large needle on the metal tray, and without even swabbing the region with disinfectant, he rammed it into Logan's thick arm. It hurt, but Logan didn't care. He'd have worse. Once the shot was done, the doctor wordlessly turned away, and fiercely began to scribble some more stuff down.

"Aren't you going to clean my wound? I would think that any possible acts of malpractice on the soldiers of the mighty Confederacy would looked upon as irresponsible. Don't want us getting sick on the battlefield?" Biting his lip in an effort to hold back at perhaps trying to brutally slay this odious trash talking man, the doctor grabbed a cotton swab, and wiped away some trace amounts of blood.

"Yeah, just like that. I know you're getting hot doing this, am I right?"

_"Get the hell out of my sight, you soulless cretin! Get out! Get out NOW!" _Logan shrugged, put his shirt back on, and exited, giving his new friend a wave.

"Nice talking to you too. See you later doc!" He ducked out just as the metal instrument tray was chucked at his head, clanging on the doorframe.

--

--

Medical Assessment & Neo-Implants…………Complete

--

--

With that section completed, all that remained was to be suited up in the standard Marine combat suit, be issued a big gun, and then to attend the debriefing of the current disastrous situation that was happening beyond those simple walls. Following that, will be the distribution of men to the various military units, and then, finally, the deployment into their stations.

_Now, let's see if my intelligence buys me passage to a safer place…_At the end of this next hallway, joined by another couple burly convicts as he went along, Logan found himself in a large assembly hall, where all the new recruits were gathered. There were many of them, hundreds, from all different cellblocks in the prison. Logan saw a group of familiar faces, and went to join them. He had been in prison for a while, so he was a regular and had a click that he hung with. It provided him with both valued human contact and protection from other gangs. Fortunately, Jack was a part of his group.

"Yo, Stoney! Get ya ass over here!" In addition to Jack, there was also Brock Paxon, a renowned hijacker and smuggler. He had stolen parts of all sorts of high tech gadgets, not to mention having boosted just about every sort of vehicle of the Confederacy, ground and flying, in his career. He had eventually been caught trying to steal and escape in a Behemoth-Class Battlecruiser. Turns out, such a vessel couldn't be manned by one person. Meaning, he didn't get very far.

And then there was Johnny Ryder, also known as Knuckles, in regards to his passion for fist fighting as well as being the largest of the group. He had been a standard grunt of a worker on the outside, but had gotten pissed, something that happened to him quite often as a matter of fact, at the idiotic owner of the plant he was working in, and had beaten the guy to death with a steel pipe. Also, there was Lucas Dell, a scruffy grizzled older con, the senior member of the little band, in his forties somewhere. An ex-mercenary, he had been pulling sleazy jobs all throughout the Terran Sector for nearly ten years, many of which were for the Confederacy, and several that weren't, which more than explained why he was in prison. A couple more guys as well, with stories of their own.

"Stoney," Jack greeted slugging him in the arm. "There ya are! I could hearin' ya givin' ya doctor an ulcer in there. Damn, ya pissed that tight-assed little fucker off somethin' bad! Makes me proud!"

"Well hey, if someone hang's around you sorry bastards long enough, then some of your bad habits will rub off on them. Anyway, what the hell are we all waiting here for? I'm ready to get out of here…"

"No shit," Johnny answered, chewing on his cigarette, "But they're still doing the assessment process. Those high up pricks like to take their sweet ass time in deciding the placement. Like its gonna make any fucking difference where we go. It's probably just some pirate faction that's caused a ruckus. Sons of Korhal, or some such shit…"

"Those guy's are still around?" Lucas asked, raking some fingers through his curly beard, "I thought they got their asses toasted a while back."

"Naw, still alive an' bein' a major pain in the ass for the bosses. They're a crafty bunch, keepin' one step ahead of things. I'd bet that some of us here will have to go out and fight 'em…"

--

--

_Elsewhere..._

--

--

Elsewhere, while all the cons were waiting for their assignments and armaments, in another room sat a dozen military officers and deputies, reviewing profiles and collected data, sorting through the wide variety of criminals to the tasks which best suited their charming behavior and meager skills.

At the moment, the Confederacy's primary concern wasn't sending out troops to battle this latest threat, but to maintain stability and control in their immediate territories, and to ensure their own safety was kept intact. Therefore, most of the recent applicants were being sent around to colonies that were closer to Tarsonis, building up their standing forces. Only a slight fraction of these new enlisted troops were being transferred to reinforce the existing military out on the hazardous fringe worlds.

"What about General Duke's force?" one positioning officer questioned the military committee, reviewing some written transcripts, "He's requested some new units for Alpha Squadron, to better maintain his control on the fringe worlds."

"And what about Mar Sara?" another put in, "That was threatened too. Are we gonna send anyone out to make sure things are kept together?" One man, Colonel Jackson Hauler, the somewhat despised leader of the Confederacy's Black Ops group, Nova Squadron, pushed the stack of reports in front of him away.

"Duke's a whiny old fuck, and too stupid to realize that he's been given the shittiest post we got. But send him a small garrison of detachment troops anyway, just so he'll shut his noise-hole. And yeah, we'll be sendin' some local Magistrate out to keep the peace. He's stuck under Duke, and will hopefully keep things from collapsing entirely. Not that it will matter too much more anyhow…"

"You mean…?"

"Yeah, I do. But just to keep things lookin' official, we need to send a company of soldiers with 'em, as an escort. So, who wants the job? How 'bout Epsilon Squadron?"

"Hell no," refused another military officer, "Sending a unit primarily of researchers to be front line soldiers is fucking retarded…Besides, they're too busy sorting through the ruins of Chau Sara. And furthermore, not many commanders would be so willing to send their loyal men out to take part in what is probably a suicide mission."

"Not many, but there are _some_...What about Gamma Squadron then? How 'bout it Colonel? You got some damn stupid yokels in the bunch. This sorta thing sounds right up their alley." Further down the table sat a brooding officer, glowering out the nearby window, not really giving a damn about the topic at hand. His name was Colonel Francis Carter, chief and commander of the Confederate Gamma Squadron. He didn't turn his head.

"Knock yourselves out."

"Alright, it's settled. Now, we just gotta pick a unit…" Hauler flipped through a logbook of Gamma Squadron personnel, trying to sort through the pages. "How 'bout 507? They're supposed to be pretty barbarous and wild…? They're the ones that stormed that fortified complex without any ground or air support a while back, right? Crazy motherfuckers like that would be ideal for this type of position."

"Go ahead, but they lost several members in the last terrorist action on their station…You'll need to find a few more volunteers to add to it."

"Not a problem, we got a whole list of stupid-ass killers here…Just pick the…"

"Well, apparently they're not _all_ stupid." It was an analysis officer who spoke. "When we reviewed the intelligence test results, we saw that one guy actually passed…flawlessly."

"What? Some bottom-feeding lowlife shitpile passed with a perfect score? There ain't no fucking way!"

"See for yourself." He handed over the report, and the colonel scanned the text. "Stone? Logan Stone? That son of a bitch is _here_? Heh, well what do ya know…It _is_ a small world, isn't it?"

"His history suggests that he was well educated and pretty successful on the outside, before he was charged and convicted. He made claims that it was a cover up."

"Yeah, I know _all_ about that…Well then," Colonel Hauler gave a smirk, "I think we just found our first soldier to reinforce Unit 507."

"Wait a second," the leader of Epsilon Squadron spoke up, "You're sending the smartest man among the whole lot of these idiots out to die? I'd think he'd be put to better use under my command. Someone with intelligence falls into _my_ jurisdiction."

"That's true, but you'd better rethink that. I know this guy a bit. Ol' Logan here is a bit of a wild stallion. I wouldn't be surprised if he _still_ hates the Confederacy even after going through Resocialization…Even so, he's conniving and crafty. Not to mention that he's still got some pretty powerful friends on the outside. I'd rather send _him_ to place where we _know_ he ain't comin' back from, lest he causes trouble for one of our lesser military divisions. Like Epsilon Squadron for instance…"

"I see. Have it your way then, he'll join Gamma Squadron, and in turn, they'll be sent out to the fringe worlds. But don't you think it's a bit reckless to send out only a single unit to handle such a situation?" Hauler shrugged.

"Nope, it'd be just a waste to send anymore. Besides, Mar Sara's got some militia units stationed out that way. It'll be all they need. By the way, now that I think about it, where _is_ Unit 507 right now? Carter?"

"On Brontes IV. They were sent there to deal with the Fist of Redemption."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Some lunatic rebel group."

"Alright, well, they're being reassigned. I'll send word to them now, and have my Special Ops forces deal with those pesky insurgents instead. Any objections?" There were none.

"Good. Moving on…"


	3. Meet the DoomBringers

**Chapter 3:** Meet the Doom-Bringers

It was a good two and a half hours before any sort of sign was given to all the restless cons milling about the staging area. In the course of that time, more and more men came in, in droves, in groups, and a few stragglers, until there were so many, that some were ushered to another building just to make room. Logan and his group stayed put, not feeling like moving, and just hung around. In prison, that was something that you did all the time. You just learned to "hang".

At long last, an invisible loud speaker came to life, letting off a piercing feed back whine, subsiding after a few seconds. This was followed by a gruff voice.

"_Attention! Listen up, you pond scum! Assignment placement is complete, but there'll be a slight change in our schedule. Due to the vast number of new recruits, you'll all be briefed first, following which you will receive you current designation, and then be shipped out tonight. When you get to your station, you'll be geared up for your duty. So, move your asses to the Block C area to await your debriefing!"_

In a general shuffling of motion, all the cons rose, and began to file out of the room, grumbling. Most of them had been looking forward to getting to use a gun, and wanted to get their hands wrapped around it as soon as possible. This delay certainly put a bit of a damper on their mood. Logan was just hoping that this whole process would hurry up and be done with. He'd had enough of this place, and he'd had enough with being the Confederacy's patsy.

The Block C area was an indoor cavern of concrete, with towering ceilings and a huge open floor. Any sound made within this chamber reverberated everywhere, even the slightest of noises. So the shouting of the hundreds of convicts was transformed in a senseless roaring echo, a thousand different voices all combined together, screaming into everyone's ears. Despite this, no one ceased their own conversations, and it went on and on. Until, again the loud speaker blared into life, with yet another teeth-chattering feedback screech. And in the echo chamber, it was all the more piercing and horrible.

"_Alright, cram a sock in ya noise-holes, ya pack of sweat-sucking dregs! Welcome to the new recruit debriefing station. Get the wax outta your ears, cause we ain't repeatin' this again! You miss somethin', then it's gonna be your ass! Now start salutin' ya shaved apes, for your first new superior, Brigadier General Nash!"_

On cue, a Confederate military officer stepped out of an adjacent door in a stiff-legged walk, heading towards a rickety podium that a few janitors had dragged in. The cons jeered and whistled, and some of the serious ones gave some half-hearted salutes. As he approached the podium, he removed his hat, and scanned the many faces before him with contempt and ridicule.

"Let's get one thing straight beforehand," he addressed the mob in front of him, "I _don't_ like being here, and I plan to make this short, so keep your traps shut, and try and act intelligent for a few minutes."

"Take it off!" some smart-ass yokel hooted from somewhere within in the mass of prisoners.

"And may I introduce the first of you vulgar parasites to most likely be killed in action. So knock it off! The only reason you scourges are here in the first place is because of the current emergency. Otherwise, you'd still be plaguing this place, sitting in your mite-infested beds, and getting off by killing one another. And don't think for one minute that we can't send you right back again! Any volunteers?"

Logan was very tempted to take him up on that, but that probably would have ended badly. Matthew had said that no one was exempted from this. Chances were that anyone stupid enough to volunteer would only be punished, then sent out to fight. So, he kept quiet. So did everyone else.

"I didn't think so. Right, let's get on with it. This is the current situation… Approximately forty-nine hours ago, our long-range magnetic sensors picked up several dozen unidentified ships near our outer world territories, on a direct course to the outlying colony of Chau Sara. Upon arriving, with no warning and for no apparent reason, they unleashed a planetary bombardment that utter wiped out everything, incinerating the planet clear of all inhabitants. Furthermore, these ships then switched their course towards the neighboring colony of Mar Sara. Our forces intercepted them, but before they could be engaged, the undesignated fleet pulled back out of our space."

At this shocking revelation, everyone began talking at once, finding this news pretty bizarre and somewhat unsettling. Of course, humans had always had suspicions that there were other lifeforms out there among the stars, but this was the first time that any had ever presented itself. Unprecedented and extraordinary true enough, but regretfully, they had revealed themselves with obvious hostile intentions. More than confirmed by the annihilation of an entire colony. Quite disconcerting to say the least.

"Keep it down! We currently still know practically nothing about these aliens, only that they've identified themselves as being called…"Protoss." As for their aims, or the meaning of their unprovoked attack, that is unclear. However, it was decided that our outer world territories are to be bolstered and thus you men have been released into the military to further relieve our forces."

"So now you know! Any other information that we think you need to know will be received when you get to your stations. In regards to that, we have these…" Nash pointed overhead towards several large screens with long lists of names scrolling past. "Each screen has the Squadron, and the assignments for each Squadron, and the names of who will be joining. Following that, will be your next directions on where to go. That is all. Good luck gentlemen!" And with that, the Brigadier General stepped down off the podium, and left the prisoners to their own devices.

"Holy fuckin' shit," one con whistled, "That sure is one hell of a way to start this fun little trip off! Fuckin' aliens blowin' up a whole planet? That's some crazy shit man!"

"Fuckin' A," Jack added, crushing out his cigarette, and lighting up a new one, "Ain't never expected ta hear _that_. So, the bosses piss off these aliens, and we gotta go out and do all the fightin' and dyin'! That's a pretty picture!"

"Tell me about it," Brock groaned, scratching his ass, "Now we gotta find out who's bein' sent out that way. I know I'll be pissed somethin' bad if its me. The fringe worlds ain't got but shitty equipment…Ain't nothin' worth boostin' out there…"

"Can't ya go at least one day without tryin' ta steal somethin'," Jack inquired, "I'll bet you're the son of a bitch that stole my lucky deck of cards…" With a chuckle, he noticed Logan who was rather quiet, staring up at the overhead screens with intense seriousness. "Yo Stoney, why the long face? You should be bouncin' off the fuckin' walls with excitement. You're getting' out of this place finally!"

"Yeah…but where am I going? Hopefully some place with a view…"

"You're with me," Johnny nodded, towards the left most screen. "Assigned to Gamma Squadron…Unit 507 on Brontes IV."

"What the hell is on Brontes IV?"

"Who the fuck knows? The paranoid bastards probably got their reasons, but I guess that they don't feel too compelled to tell us. Figures…"

"Well, it'll be nice to have a familiar face around. And I'll sure as shit feel a lot safer with you watching my back John-Boy."

"Call me John-Boy again, and weird-ass aliens will be the last thing you need to worry about."

"So noted. What about you Jacky? Where are you headed?"

"Ya know, that's a good fuckin' question…Let me see, where'm my at?" He squinted from screen the screen, it being clear that he couldn't understand the words all that well."

"There," Lucas pointed, slapping his arm, "over there! There you are! Alpha Squadron, you lucky prick! That's Duke's unit, sure enough. You get to roll with the fuckin' Blood Hawks!"

"What are ya talkin' 'bout, shit for brains? That's out on the fringe worlds! I'm liable ta get my damn brains splattered across the walls with them! Just my luck! Ol' Stoney and John-Boy here gets some cushy assignment, while I'm stuck out doin' the dirty work. I tell ya, the bosses 'round here must have their heads up their asses."

"As for me," Lucas found his own place in the roster, "Though I'm sure none of you dickweeds really care, I'm stayin' right here, in Delta Squadron. Guess the higher ups don't want ta risk lettin' someone like me back out into the "work force". Maybe they ain't as stupid we think…"

"Don't kid yourself," Logan informed him, "They'll just sending out the _real_ men to handle the aliens, and leaving the old women behind to guard the place. I can see it now…Your first assignment…bake some cookies."

"Fuck you, you little dipshit! I'll have ya know that I was blowin' people ta smithereens back when you were still wettin' the bed!" Jack was still laughing, slapping Logan on the back.

"Ha hah, Stoney, that was killer. Sorry old man, but you just got ya ass torched! Crashed an' burned baby!" Lucas shot him a rather dirty look and an equally obscene finger gesture.

"Now y'all are just gangin' up on me! Fine, I'll take that lot of ya, and hand ya your own asses! Come on, who's first?" However, they never got the chance, as the speaker came back on, breaking in between all current conversations.

"_Alright, you maggots have looked long enough! If ya don't know where you're goin' by now, then you're sure as shit retarded! There's a couple Warrant Officers standin' around, and they'll point ya in the right direction. Now get your asses out of here, y'all got stuff ta do and shit ta blow up! Move it!"_

"Hell man," Jack looked around, shrugging, "I guess it's time we split up. Shit, it's been interestin', I'll say that much. You boys take care and don't fight now…" Logan grinned.

"And don't you kill everyone out on the fringe worlds. We all know how pissed you get when you don't get enough sleep…"

"Fuckin' A Stoney!" The group shook hands, and shared a heart-filled farewell. At least, as heart-filled as a band of greasy murdering bastards could get, and the gang split up. Jack found a small detachment of men being sent out to Alpha Squadron, moving towards the Center Platform. Lucas joined up with a substantial number of cons remaining on Tarsonis for defensive positions, either with Delta or Omega Squadron.

Logan and Johnny walked for the East Sector, Platform 13, where Gamma Squadron was waiting. Surprisingly enough, they'll seemed to be the fewest of them, only around a dozen or so.

"Guess we're not that important," Johnny observed with a shrug.

"You don't hear me complaining. So now what?" As in an answer to Logan's question, a Warrant officer and a military officer, a Lieutenant stepped out onto the platform, just as a dropship was landing. The Lieutenant began to shout at the group milling about.

"Alright, line up! We're taking a head count and role to make sure everyone's accounted for."

"What is this," one other soldier asked with a snicker, moving into place, "Elementry school? Y'all gonna have a locker check next?"

"Keep that up boy, and you'll have Neural Inhibitors shoved so far up your ass, that even your shit will be asking permission to shit! So shut it! When you hear your name, salute and stand at attention! Do you get me!"

"We get you sir!" came the reply, save Logan, who hadn't received such "motivation" in the department of being a loyal and obedient soldier. For obvious reasons. As the officer ran down the checklist, naming off the newest members of the squadron, each man would stand at attention and salute as their names were called. When it came time for Logan's turn, he gave a half-hearted salute, tapping his feet lightly, and spoke with a much softer and less forceful tone than the rest.

"You call _that_ a salute, you worthless panty waste! I've seen better from my three-year-old niece. Get some intensity in there ya pile of crap!" Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Logan gave a jittery shrug.

"Sorry…sir. Just a little anxious…sir."

"Well, anxious or not, you better shape up boy! You're in the military now, and you better start actin' like it!" They finished the attendance call, every man being there.

"All right girls, listen up! You'll be loadin' on to this APC, which is going up to one of our larger ships docked on the space platforms in orbit. And then a small detachment of vessels will launch to Brontes IV, where you will receive your new orders. Any questions before you board?"

"Do you have any idea what we'll be doin' once we get there?" one other con, a man by the name of Quentin asked.

"No I don't. Alright, that's enough questions. Load up, and ship out! Move it!" With their instructions, the dozen or so cons clambered up the loading ramp, taking the open seats, strapping themselves in, waiting for launch.

_See you around_, Logan thought, looking out, as the loading door began to seal up, _Hopefully, the next time I set foot here, I'll be a free man again. And maybe, just maybe, I can get my life back._

Takeoff was a bit shaky, at least it felt that way for Logan. He had never been too comfortable with space travel, the whole experience made him a tad uneasy, this being no exception. Try as he might, he couldn't sit still, fidgeting in his chair, as the whole room seemed to tremble, rattle, and shake. With the roar of thrusters, the dropship lurched, pivoted, and soared upward into the upper atmosphere of Tarsonis, straining to reach the point where it would break free of the restraining gravitation that was trying to pull it back to the ground.

Soon the ride started to smooth out, escaping the stratosphere with a strong push. What now lay before them was the vast openness of space. Unfortunately, the dropship didn't come equipped with windows or view ports, thus the sight of the sprawling planet below was invisible to the passengers. Though there wasn't any time for that. With some fancy maneuvering, the pilot swung the spacecraft around, and aimed it for one of the three primary orbital platforms, which served as the staging area of Omega and Delta Squadron troops.

Hovering just on the last junction of the final platform was a larger transport vessel. Though not _nearly_ as massive or daunting as a Behemoth-Class Battlecruiser, it was still more than large enough for the APC to dock in it with no problem. It pulled inside, landing in the cargo hold, setting down as the airlock doors behind were sealing up. With their short first stage of their journey complete, the men released their harnesses, and exited the dropship.

The carrier that they were inside of wasn't too glorious. If anything, it was a washout of a vessel, an older model with very few features, and shoddy craftsmanship. "Guess we ain't ridin' First Class then?" Johnny commented, glancing up at the rusty interior of the loading bay.

"No shit," Quentin added, scratching his chin, "We're riskin' our lives for these guys, so you'd think the least they could do is give us a ship with a bar or somethin'. I doubt there's even a bathroom on this tub!"

"If that's the case," another soldier commented, "Then don't you even be thinkin' 'bout pissin' in the corner, else I'll blow your ass out the airlock! Then ya can piss in a asteroid!"

"Alright boys, listen up!" Through a junky sticky door came greasy mechanic technician, "This here's your transportation to Brontes IV. It ain't that long of a journey, so y'all won't be needin' ta be put into cryosleep. We's got a small lounge area up front, but sadly, it's lackin' most of the modern comforts that other vessels got. So, it will have ta do. I suggest y'all follow me, as we need ta get underway. Can't have y'all just sitting here, need ta get strapped in nice and tight. Come on…"

They all followed him into the bowels of the ship, the rest of which was just as impressive as the cargo hold, a sorry sight of ragtag engineering and maintenance. The lounge, as he had put it was just a bunch of chairs in a crowded crawlspace, with a miniature closet of a toilet, and a small grimy porthole or two. Naturally, the men brawled to get the chance to look out the window. They saw very little.

"Hey," one recruit called, as he was gazing around, "are we _really_ goin' all the way ta Brontes IV alone in this shitheap? From what I've seen, this thing will blow up long before halfway."

"Say what you will about her," the technician grunted, patting a steel girder nearby, "But this little lady has been through a lot. She's a Dozer-Class Frigate, and built to last. An' no, we ain't goin' alone. The way I hear it, we're escorting someone higher up, an officer or somethin', and we also got a two-man fighter escort, part of Alpha Squadron. Once we get on sight, they'll rejoin up with 'em."

With little else to do, the new members sat down, and just began to talk with one another. Army units were always meant to be well-knit, close together, forming bonds of brotherhood and loyalty. Most of the men were just regular guys, nothing too fancy on their rap sheets, having committed their own negligible crimes, none of which were too outrageous or memorable. Except two.

Quentin Bullock, a former Confederate employee, a renowned technician himself as well as a computer programmer, had made a living creating many high tech devices and data sorting software for the Confederacy government, most of which no one else present had ever heard of. He was exposed for selling his inventions and illegal hacking applications on a bidding scheme, shipping them off to other groups and factions who paid the most.

When the Confederacy finally caught on and intervened, before they arrested him, he went on the run, and managed to infect a good number of their software systems with a radical virus that ate up numerous technology files and data records. As such, when captured, his sentence was lengthy indeed. He was kinda small when he first came in to the system, and a bit antisocial, but he had toughened up considerably in his period of incarceration. Prison does that. It can cause the most timid of wallflowers to grow a nasty streak.

The other man was Cyrus Torrik. What he had been prior to his prison time was basically what one might call a suicide flyer. Not saying that he went on kamikaze missions and survived, but rather, the way that he flew made one wonder how he had survived for so long, being a dare-devil pilot who just didn't seem to care about anything all that much. He had no real job, no real point in his life except to fly around and make a nuisance of himself.

He had outrun Confederate patrols dozens of times, not causing any actual damage, but seriously annoying the hell out of officers and workers, with his constant close range fly-bys and surly voice blaring over every radio frequency, including the emergency channels. Eventually, they had used an EMP pulse to knock out his high-speed star-fighter, finally slowing him down to arrest him. It was said that at the trial hearing, he had attempted to leap out of the thirteenth story window of the sentencing hall onto a passing aircraft.

Time passes faster when one is occupied, thus he trip didn't last too long, the men chatting and making jokes for several hours. They had pulled out some beer in the rusted fridge, being the first taste of alcohol any of them had come into contact with in a long while. It tasted damn good. Before they knew it, the pilot over the intercom system spoke, the speaker crackling with static, even the com system of the ship being outdated and trashy.

"Look alive ladies, we're coming up on Brontes IV. Get on back to the APC, we'll be launchin' y'all down to the surface to the basecamp there. After that, you'll get suited up, and get your orders!" The soldiers returned to the dropship, strapped in, and waited. After a few minutes, as the frigate came up the orbital platform near the outer reaches of the planet, the cargo doors opened, and the APC pulled out, making an almost wild decent towards the surface.

Reentry was even bumpier and more unnerving than take-off, much to Logan's discomfort, who was nearly tearing the restraints off his harness, he was clenching so tight.

"Check this out," Cyrus called, noticing, "Stone here's all nervous. What's ta matter, you scared? Ya look like ya gonna piss yourself! Don't tell me you're afraid of flyin'?"

"No, I just never liked it. And excuse me for not having either your balls of steel or lack of discernment of what is and is not on the borders of being labeled as dangerous, you deranged asshole."

"Ooo, touchy! We'll ya better learn ta start likin' it, 'cause this is the sort of shit we do daily. You get sick on the ride, ya ain't gonna last long when you touch ground. Better take that ta heart!"

Finally, things settled down, as the going got smoother, as they lowered in altitude. There was a shift in the throttle, followed shortly by a sickening lurch, and the men could feel the craft lowering straight down, making a landing. As the engines powered down, letting off steam clouds of coolant, they undid their restraints just as the ramp opened.

"Right on time," came a voice from outside, "Alright, get on out here gents, an' lets see what we got ta work with. Times a wastin'"

As they marched out, they got a good look at their surroundings. The world of Brontes IV was not too shabby. The ground they were on was craggy like a mountainside, not to mention some large peak were silhouetted against the horizon. Also, there were several large patches of trees and even a lake within sight range. But enough of the scenery…

The Confederates had jurisdiction over Brontes IV, and considering it was so close to Tarsonis, they would have a substantial military presence there, keeping an eye on the inhabitance. But the base that they had landed at was obviously not the primary place of operation. It was a rather small camp, no doubt established by a patrolling detachment, setting up temporary residence in an unpopulated area.

Perhaps they were making way for possible expansion of either the colony itself, or more likely, a magnification of the armed occupancy. All it really had to offer was a rustic command center getting swallowed up by brush growing around it, two barracks, a handful of defensive batteries and shelters, and a few meager supply depots to support the inhabitants of the place. The installation was rather desolate and barren, not having an active guard or anything like that.

Logan was glancing around, taking in the sights, analyzing his possible means of escape from his new job, when heavy footfalls brought him back to the present. Clamping up the steel steps towards the makeshift landing pad was a man who could only be described as one tough-looking motherfucker.

He was wearing the standard military uniform, fatigues with a Confederacy patch on the arm. Sturdy black army boots, laced up nice and tight, and a leather belt with matching holster, housing a big goddamn gun. Across his chest was a belt full of the standard marine bullets, eight-millimeter steel spikes, looking wicked sharp. He had a ballcap on, the bill turned down, a pair of pilot sunglasses over his eyes with the silver lenses, and was rolling a cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

Though it was hard to see with the hat, he had a long headful of dirty almond hair with strings of silver flowing out, tied up in a ponytail falling past his shoulders. All up and down his arms were military tattoos, not to mention several flaming skulls and grim reapers. At his approach, he removed the sunglasses, so that his face was more visible.

There was an enormous scar going right across his face, which most likely explained how he was missing his left eye, there being a small protruding metallic cylinder in its place emitting a red glow in its place. A grove of dark stubble covered his face, on his cheeks, chin, and even growing on his neck. He was older, maybe late thirties or forties, and he was walking with a powerful stride, which conveyed confidence and authority.

"Heads up," the adjutant, the man who had met them on the platform upon landing called out, "Here comes the Sarge. Mind your manners, and show him some respect. This guy is one of the most hardened of men in the whole Confederacy. Don't piss him off, that's my only advice for you." He stepped back, saluting the approaching badass. "Sir, the newest recruits from Tarsonis, reinforcements for our next mission."

"I can see that Travis…" His voice was heavy, but with a hint of a crafty undertone, a strong leader but sly. He turned his stare towards the rookie soldiers, eyeing them with his one good eye, and his bionic one.

"Shit," the Sarge griped, "Those UT assholes fucked up again…I never asked for so damn many! I only needed a couple in my unit; the rest will just be excess baggage! What the hell am I supposed to do with the others?"

"Well," Travis the assistant put in, "You could always send them back to the primary base camp…You know Lieutenant Commander Kenneth always complains about not getting enough new recruits. You could keep a few and send the rest his way. It might make him quit complaining about your insubordination. Maybe even drop that informal psyche evaluation test he's been bugging you about?"

"Hmm, not bad. I guess you don't _always_ got ya head up ya ass, do ya Travis? Alright, if that's the plan, then I just better take the best of the lot for myself."

He strode forward, looking the dozen men over. First he stopped at Johnny. "Damn this fucker is big. But he looks kinda soft to me…How 'bout it boy? You think you're _man_ enough for _my_ unit?" Johnny stared down at him, being a good head taller.

"More than enough and then some, to cover for your short-comings." The Sarge glared up at him, and then jerked his head towards his adjutant. "He's got spunk. He's number one." He went on, looking over some more. He paused next to Quentin. "What 'bout you? You don't seem more than a skinny piece of shit, ain't worth nuthin' but a half-assed toilet scrubber."

"Maybe. But I'll as sure as shit make anyone pay for making the mistake of messing with me. All I need is to get my fingers on a keyboard, and I'll have this whole planet sent back to the fuckin' stone age in half a day."

"Techno-junkie huh? I already got one in my unit, but I guess a second wouldn't hurt, should one of ya be blown up. You'll be number two." Moving on, he made some careful scrutiny looks at some others, before his eyes narrowed, settling on Logan.

"Oh, lookey here Travis, we's got us a pretty schoolgirl in tha bunch! What the fuck are you doin' here, mama's boy? If ya ain't careful, you'll break your nails and get dirt in ya eyes! Does that scare you piss-ass?"

"Not in the slightest. By the way, I'd be more than happy to tear your other eye out for you…"

"That a fact? Let me ask ya, how do you exspect ta be doin' that, a sissy faggot like you?" Instead of answering, Logan shot his foot out, trying to knock his commander's feet out from under him. However, this guy was waiting for an attack, and blocked the shot. Following, the Sarge grabbed Logan's shoulders, yanked him down, and in a quick flip, pinned Logan to ground, face down, with his knee in his back.

"You ain't much of a fighter," the Sarge growled in his ear, "but I like your guts…Number three." He released Logan and went on, not even helping him stand.

"You," he grunted, looking Cyrus in the eyes, "I know _you_. You're that fuckin' lunatic pilot ain'tcha? What's your name…Flash-Man, that's it. Why the fuck did they send _you_ here?"

"Search me Sarge. Guess they thought you'd need a crazy asshole like me in the bunch."

"Hmm, we ain't got any flyers in my squad, and I've learned that it would pay to have at least one birdman in the unit. Course I'm a bit skeptical 'bout lettin' _you_ of all people behind the wheel of _any_ goddamn vehicle, but you're all I got. You're number four. An' I think that's all I need. The rest of you will be gettin' off easy. Travis, get these men loaded back on the ship, and tell the pilot to fly them over to the capital. Then send a message to Kenneth. Tell 'im that he's got a couple of new babies inbound. I'll finish up with my new meat here."

"Yes sir. Alright, you heard him, back in the ship, you boys are headin' for greener pastures!" The remaining men hustled back up the ramp, and in a few moments, the dropship roared off, vanishing into the sky. That just left the Sarge, Travis, and the four men, Logan, Johnny, Quentin and Cyrus. The Sarge's face tensed, as he looked them over.

"Congratulations for makin' the cut maggots! First off, I'm your new commander here. I'm Sergeant Ray Bennett, and for all intensive purposes, _I…am…God._ You follow _my_ orders, an' I don't want ta be hearin' _any_ lip 'bout it neither! You stick to _my_ schedule, we do things by the book, and anyone wants ta get smart with me, you'll be stuck out on night watch duty over in the forest overlook for the next three weeks! Am I clear?"

There was of course the "Yes sir," from the small group, but none of them were speaking with much enthusiasm. Such an anal and choleric superior was a clear sign that this post was going to be a certifiable nightmare.

"Now, in regards to our new mission, it is my job to tell ya, that we're marchin' out to fight off some rebel terrorists at twenty-two hundred hours! These bastards are well equipped and outnumber us four ta one, so the chances of survival are minimal at best. But that's what bein' a soldier is all about. Ready ta give your life for the Confederacy at a moments notice!"

Bennett paused, glaring around the somewhat demoralized troops. After a tense moment, he started to grin, and began to loose gust of hearty laughter, slapping his knees, the belt of bullets around his neck jingling.

"Hah ha, I'm just fuckin' with ya! No one out in these parts is that much of a dick! I only got one rule in my unit boys, and that is _don't_ fuck up. Other than that, ya can relax a bit. Since we don't got any of those higher up stiff-ass official pricks from the Ordinance department hangin' over our head with all their bullshit rules an' regulations, we got a bit more freedom to act however we want. That bein' said, let me be the first ta welcome you boys to the craziest fucked-up unit in the whole goddamn Confederacy…Gamma Squadron, Unit 507. Also known, as the Doom-Bringers."

"Now then," he went on, picking his cigar from his mouth, and rolled it through his fingers, getting ash all on his hands, "We'll need to get you little ladies suited up for combat, 'cause we _do_ got a mission. We stay here tonight, and shove off tomorrow. Alright, follow me, time to meet your new family! Get your asses in gear gentlemen!"


	4. A Man's Reasons

**Chapter 4:** A Man's Reasons

The sergeant led his new men off the landing platform, into the heart of the camp. Though there weren't many, a few fully suited soldiers were walking around, wearing the standard military marine armor, carrying their weapons, patrolling the installation. Passing them, they were led to one of the two barracks, and went in. Inside was the Marine Core's living arrangements; rather meager to say the least. But in the military, what could one expect?

"Alright," Bennett told them, pausing to light up a fresh cigar, "here's the deal boys. First, we're going to get you outfitted in your new equipment, an' settled in. Following that, you'll attend a short little orientation, givin' y'all the info you're gonna need 'bout your suits and weapons. From the look of ya, you boys ain't ever been in a real marine unit before, so you won't know jackshit 'bout loadin' or shootin' ya guns, or which button on your combat suits flips your visors up an' down. That's some handy crap for ya to know, 'specially if their ain't any oxygen around. After that, you can meet up with your new unit, an' I'll give ya some time ta get aquatinted."

The four men were brought deep into the bowels of the barracks to the armament center. Inside were numerous pieces of technology which helped drive the Confederacy war machine. The CMC-300 series Powered Combat Suit that all marines wore was an example of a complex and intricate piece of high tech wizardry, using neural implants to almost transform the soldier wearing it into a cyborg, having a mental uplink with the onboard computer system.

Designed to fit every man, regardless of weight and stature, each unit comes standard with a built-in life support system, NBC (Nuclear, Biological, Chemical) shielding, and armored protection, able to repel small arms fire and shrapnel damage.

There were of course the upgraded CMC-400 models, with noticeable enhancements to mobility, not to mention a built-in chemical delivery system that shoots the soldier full of artificial adrenaline and endorphins, not to mention being mixed with a psychotropic aggression amplifier, to increase ones reactions and speed. Aptly named, the StimPack, a drug concoction of great value among the ranks. And not just for combat…But at such a rural station, the higher grade of tech like that was not available.

Furthermore, this suit was _so_ elaborate, that it was impossible to construct by hand. It required the steady unflinching precision of a series of programmed assembly arms, to built the armor up around the soldier piece by piece, welding each section together, and transfusing all the necessary fuels to power all the suits systems through pipes and hoses. Once completed, the suit allowed the soldier to operate in places with no gravity or oxygen with ease. Best of all, it came in all different colors. Seriously sweet.

After passing through the armory, they entered a long stretch of hallway, along which were easily a dozen metal doors, each with a heavy-duty lock on the outside. A small glowing sign overhead, half-lit and the other flickering casually, stated: **"Marine Combat Suit Placement." **The Sarge came to a halt, waving at the hatchways.

"Alright, each of ya take a door, and wait here. I got to go get the system primed." Bennett left the four men by the barracks's assembly chambers, to alert the technicians of the new arrivals, in order to prep the chambers for usage. The soldiers waited.

"Hey," Quentin inquired, "Any of you ever done this before?" No one had, but Cyrus had a little insight.

"Naw, but I've been in places like this beforehand, so I know how it's done. Its pretty simple really, when ya get in, ya get onto a platform, and that raises up towards these big ol' metal arms, and the put the suit on ya. Ya just stand there, an' it don't even take that long. You're in there only five minutes. Easy as pie."

"Speaking of which," Bennett commented on returning, "I sure could go for some pie right now…Anyway, you boys are all set. Just step inside and try not ta piss yourselves…might short out the wiring…"

With a series of mighty groans, almost as if they were fighting against the buildup of rust, the locking mechanisms on the heavy doors began to release with a whir and clank of steel. There was a hiss of piston fluid, and four of the doors opened up. Inside, there was a dimly lit chamber; not too inviting-looking to say the least. But since this was all part of the experience, all four men went through their respective doors, which sealed shut behind them.

Logan found the room very nostalgic of his time in prison; dull lighting, leaky steam pipes, a smell of oil and sweat, and a light crackling of invisible wires. Very comforting. No place like home. Along the walls were at least half a dozen large mechanical arms, painted yellow with the black stripes, currently motionless, folded up in numerous shallow alcoves.

_"Step into the center,"_ a voice over a PA system called out. _"Into the foot shackles…"_ Logan glanced about, and saw what the voice was talking about. Two grooves with clamps, designed for his feet were in the center of the room. Though he was a bit apprehensive about putting any part of himself into any kind of shackles, he stepped out, and eased his foot into one. With it resting comfortably, the system locked, the couplings secured his foot into place. This was followed by the other foot.

With a grind, and much to Logan's apprehension, the floor underneath began to rumble, and started to rise. A central platform lifted him upward, about ten to twelve feet before it shuddered to a halt. Following his ascension, two little restraining arms came out from above, and took Logan's wrists, spreading his arms and holding them aloft. He waited.

With a shudder, there was the sound of a generator or something just like it coming to life, being snapped out of its deep slumber after such a long time. An engine within the walls themselves began to roar, revving up, and the yellow steel appendage began to move, twitching, rising, pulling out of their restraints, and began reaching towards him. _This is it…_

First came the endoskeleton of the suit, a metal frame attached to his body, which also had the plugs that would be injected into his skin, directly into his nervous system. Sockets which would link the functions of the suit to his body. The implants hurt like hell, Logan gritting his teeth as over two dozen holes were torn into his flesh. He'd had worse pain than this though, and didn't flinch. With these sockets in place, the endosuit was bolted into these jacks, being locked in by the arms, each one having a different tool used for assembly.

There were numerous locks for this first section, not just for the bioplugs, but a series of connectors along his spinal column and up the sides of his chest, which dug in and seemed to lock into place. After that, things got simple. The armor came next, a deep indigo, easily three inches thick, began to fit into the sockets of the endosuit, being drilled in, and tightened.

It started from his legs up, and as it turned out, the foot couplings he had stepped into were actually the bottom of the suit. When it came to his arms, two mechanical hands, far larger than his own were slid over his fingers like gauntlets. Inside he could feel little controls, his hands wrapped around them as he was locked in.

As this whole process went on, Logan could hardly see any of it. The suit and helmet obstructed his view. All he had to go on were clicks, clacks, hisses, snaps, grating of metal, flashes of sparks, some jolts of pain, and pressure, his body being forcefully pushed around by the mechanical arms, retrofitting him with the advanced systems needed to keep him alive in the field.

The final touches were added, the two large shoulder protectors fell into place, the onboard canisters sealing up, and the hose and power attachments broke away as the suit booted up, its own internal fuel supply taking over the task of maintaining its primary functions.

Inside this hardened protective shell, Logan was hit with a hint of claustrophobia, but it was soon to pass. He tried moving his body. It felt utterly peculiar, his motions were being transferred to the suit. His fingers, deep beneath the cobalt shielding began to fiddle with the controls, and the robotic hand began to tremble, each finger curling, making a fist, the metal wrist pivoting.

Following this, he lifted one leg, the suit bending with him, lifting up. He stretched it out, and put it down, taking a step. In a cautious motion, as the assembly platform was being lowered, he strode about in a small circle, his stride being heavy with the dull thumping of his new big feet. In the end, it just felt like wearing really heavy clothes like a large coat that covered his whole body.

He felt so much larger and stronger, more powerful and authoritative in the combat suit, getting a bit of a kick out of how daunting he must have looked. As he reached the ground, the door to the chamber rattled open, and he could hear Bennett outside bawling at them to get out there. With some clumping footsteps, Logan departed.

--

--

Combat Suit Assembly…………Complete

--

--

Back in the hallway, Bennett was waiting, leaning against a steel beam, half-talking with another man, who was also wearing the blue CMC-300 style armor. But this guy wasn't one of the rookies, no, he was black, though in the bad light, not much more than that could be discerned. The other three men came out, looking a tad unsteady in their new getups.

"Alright, now y'all look like soldiers. Course y'all are as shaky as shit…That'll pass in a while. Now ya need ta get some firearms. Come on…"

"Wait a sec," Cyrus inquired with a wild grin, trying to see the inside of his own suit, "How's a guy supposed ta scratch his ass in one of these things?"

"Real cute Torrik. But since ya asked, each suit comes equipped with a tiny gremlin that lives up your ass until ya need to scratch a really good itch. Now shut ya yap and pay attention…You boys got a full day ta test 'em out, and get the feel for it. That should be long enough. An' if ya still got trouble, bug one of ya new buddies like Marcus here 'bout it." He jabbed his thumb at the black dude, who gave a nod.

"When ya leave here, you'll be given your weapons. Marcus will take ya through a little orientation to make sure ya don't shoot yourselves or anyone important by accident. After that, he'll show you around. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got some work to do that don't involves baby-sittin'. Later…" And off the Sarge went, strolling down the hallway, going deeper into the barracks. Marcus watched him go, before turning toward the new guys, giving them a salute.

"Hey boys and girls, welcome to our unit. I'm Marcus Wade. You guy's can call me White Noise."

"That's kinda fucked up, ain't it?" Quentin asked, "_You_ of all people bein' called _White_ Noise?"

"Hey, that's just how the ball landed. I'm a communication systems expert, and got some talent in some basic computer code. Every one in the unit gets a nickname based on either their skills or personality. If you guys live long enough, you'll get yours. But anyway, we got to get you boys some new toys. We'll go to the armory next."

The small group exited the barracks; the rookies were still having some trouble, finding it hard to walk with as much ease as Marcus, who was just strolling along. After much shaky shambling, they finally reached the Armory. Inside was a terrorist's paradise, every conceivable piece of destructive hardware available. Even at a rural station such as that, they were always well armed. Confederacy logic for you…

The briefing was rather straightforward, each man being issued an assault rifle. All except Johnny. No one had noticed it, but his armor was slightly different from the rest, larger and heavier. Turns out, Johnny had unknowingly been promoted to Corporal, and instead of being a standard marine, he was upgraded to a Firebat. As such, instead of a gun, he was outfitted with two Plasma-based Perdition flame-throwers, attached to his arms. This oversized blowtorch could launch blistering flames in long streams, almost twenty-five meters to fry close ground troops.

A Gauss rifle was put into everyone else's hands. The 8mm C-14 "Impaler" Gauss rifle to be accurate. Impaler was the nickname, due to the ammunition it fired. Instead of conventional bullets, it uses 8mm metal spikes, long slender spines which are launched at near hypersonic speeds. This is so that it will provide maximum penetration on all armor types. They could also be upgraded, utilizing U-238 shells; depleted uranium rounds to increase their utmost distance effectiveness.

Of course, putting it into the hands of an idiot who could get real trigger-happy wasn't wise else they'd run out of bullets very quickly. So in order to conserve ammo, not to mention to keep the rifle from overheating and decrease its power requirements, each gun has a capacitor that causes it to fire in short controlled bursts.

In extreme cases, this can be shut off, switching it to full automatic mode. Occasionally, along the barrel, these weapons were also equipped with a grenade launcher to be used against heavier targets, firing 20mm grenade shells. Effective, but hazardous in close range.

Lastly, each man was issued a secondary sidearm, the Ranger. A 12mm semi-automatic pistol, with an enlarged carrying capacity, each clip holding twenty rounds. These were regular bullets, but the tip of each had a small amount of volatile substance, so there was a minute blast on impact, to increase damage. It also had the feature of being switched to full auto mode, but this is hardly ever done, as there is a much higher chance of jamming due to the limitations of the casing ejection system. Along the barrel is a standard laser sight for increased precision, a well-balanced support weapon, when ammo for the Impaler was scarce.

The men were taught to load and fire each weapon, how to engage and disengage the safety, to bring up the full auto mode, and the do's and don't of being issued such a big ass gun. Almost a joke to even mention, but one could never tell with cons… After their orientation, Marcus led everyone out to the firing range, to give them a chance to show off their stuff.

Most of them sucked terribly. The only one to decently hit something was Johnny, but with a motherfucking flame-thrower, it's kinda hard to miss. As they blasted away, another soldier came around, and began to hoot and hurl offending comments at the new recruits.

"Y'all are just _awful_, ya shoot worse than I do when I'm drunk! Your mammas are probably a cryin' their eyes out! If ya can't hit nuthin', then y'all are about as useful as a week old pile of monkey shit. An' that ain't nuthin' ta be proud of!"

"It might help if ya shut the hell up," Cyrus pointed out, "And it might help motivate me if my target was dancin' around in front of me, not wantin' ta get a bullet up the ass. Why don't you come on out here, ya damn yokel!"

"Easy boy," Marcus interrupting, before turning to the hollering spectator. "You know Colt, I seem to remember when you first joined the unit, you nearly ended up shooting the Sarge in the face, and you _did_ shoot one of the other newb's in the leg. At least these guy's haven't fucked up like you did."

"I'll give'em two minutes," Colt answered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, "Then there's gonna be someone lyin' on the ground screamin' for his mamma. Probably the pretty boy back there. Don't want ta get his hands dirty. Do ya, ya pansy-eatin' dirt-lover!"

Logan was still looking over his gun, trying to figure out why he kept missing. Sure, he hadn't ever used a gun before, especially not one of this daunting strength, but he had begun seeing a definite pattern. The harsh motion of firing caused the barrel to rise up, meaning the lower he aimed the better his chances. As Colt was still yucking it up, Logan calmly turned, and fired a single shot. There was a poof, as the cigarette that had been between Colt's fingers exploded into powder. Everyone jumped. Logan smiled.

"Motherfucker…Shit boy, are ya fucked up in tha head or what? Ya damn near blew my hand off!" Marcus slapped Logan on the shoulder. "Nice shot rookie. You're getting the hang of it." Colt was still cursing, but Marcus told him to quit whining.

"Hah, you were asking for it, ya fuckin' heckler. By the way, what the hell are you still here for? I thought you were going to take a couple of the guys out on a recon mission of the installation up the road?" Colt leaned back, wiping the pieces of tobacco off his armor.

"Naw, wasn't in the mood. I sent Gunner up instead. Him, an' Chaz, an' Burk. They'll be back soon."

"Colt here," Marcus informed them, "Is called the Iron Horse, our unofficial land vehicle driver. If it crawls, rolls, rides, or hell…so long as it moves, Colt here can drive it. He's kinda like you Cyrus, except you're up in the air. You'll meet the rest of the crew when they get back I guess. Oh, here comes another one now. Boys, I'd like you to meet Malcolm. Also known as Tank."

The new guys looked around, and joining Colt was a huge man. _Really_ huge, over seven feet, a towering behemoth, wearing a Firebat suit. Inside the helmet, his face was dark, a burnt tan with tuffs of curly brown hair reaching into his calm and completely emotionless face.

"Malcolm," Marcus called, waving at the rookies, "These are the new boys to join up with us. This is Johnny, Cyrus, Quentin, and Logan. Try to be friendly with them, if you can." The big man nodded at them, giving off a grunt.

"Malcolm here ain't much of a talker, being more of the silent type. Everyone around here just calls him Tank. Speaking of which, say Malcolm, did you notice if Daemon went with those jackasses on their rounds? I haven't seen his sorry ass around for a while."

There was no response from "Tank", with the exception of the lifting of his sizable shoulders in perhaps the world's biggest shrug.

"Oh well, he'll turn up soon, I guess. Anyway, let's get back to this. If any scary ass aliens start dropping out of the sky, then it might be a good idea to know how to blast their sorry carcasses full of holes. Alright, line up, and fire!"

--

--

Firearm Distribution & G.K. Procedure…………Complete

--

--

By the time they were wrapping up, due to the cooling vents along the Gauss rifles overheating and the severe usage of all available ammunition, there was a rumble at the main gates of the compound, as a large land tank came roaring out of nowhere. The heavy treads tearing at the ground, making the gravel crack and pop up behind it, the gleaming metal assault vehicle looking like some mechanical battering ram.

Poking out of the top of it was a marine in blue armor, holding his rifle across his shoulder, surveying the scene from his perch. The tank came to a halt next to the command center, stopping with a cloud of steam and groaning of heated metal. The man on top hopped out, and landed with a clunk, before sauntering forward. His expression was friendly, almost goofy.

"Well lookie here," his voice having a much thicker drawling accent than everyone else, "This sure looks like a mighty fine get together y'all got here. Come ta think of it, I don't recall seein' you boys here before. You must be the new meat…Good to have ya aboard!"

"Chaz Nickles," Marcus introduced, "Also known as Laughing Boy…the dumbass of the unit. He finds anything wildly hilarious, so try and resist the urge to blow his hyucking head off."

From inside the tank, there came a wild cry of "YEEAAAHHHAAA!" and wiggling out of the opening came another man. Square jaw, bright eyes, chewing on a toothpick, and having a spring in his step. That, and he had the look of someone who was a veteran, not a young rookie. He also looked like the sort of man who would be wearing a cowboy hat it he could.

"Now _that_ was what I needed! Hope the Sarge don't mind, but I unloaded the main guns a couple of times into the woods…I just had a hankering to see somethin' burn!"

"You moron," Marcus grunted, shaking his head, "You _know_ how much effort it takes to reload those damn things. Are you trying to piss me off or what? Well, you've had your little joyride, but you can restock it yourself…I ain't cleaning up your mess."

"Sure thing boy, that's what makes it so damn fun. Hell, I'll clean out the latrine if it means I can go blast the shit out of somethin'! Woo-wee, now I need ta get myself some beer! Clear the way boys, I'm comin' in!" With that, he went charging into the military barracks, to grab himself some brew.

"That's how Gunner is," Chaz told them, "He's a crazy motherfucker who has a likin' for blowing stuff up. That's why we call him Napalm."

"As if they need for _you_ to tell them that…" From behind Chaz, up came another guy who had come from out of the tank, though no one had even noticed his discreet exit. "Don't be such a dumb shit, if you can help it." This guy wasn't as friendly as the first two. In both personality and physical features. Dark cold eyes, a few strands of dark hair under his helmet, pale skin, and a deadly calm face. He didn't looked like the joking type. More of the blunt heartless asshole that didn't give a crap about offending anyone or anything type. Not afraid of the consequences.

"And this here is Mr. Spicer. Burk Spicer, though we just call him Dead Man, cause he's even crazier than Gunner if you can believe it. Just in a different way…We never could understand why." Burk did not look amused with Marcus, analyzing him right as he stood there.

"Yes, I'm certain that they're _very_ anxious to know _all_ about me Whitey…Go on, why don't you tell them about how I failed the psyche test five times, and have been reprimanded repeatedly for nearly getting me and other squad members killed. _That_ should put that at ease!"

"Shit, why would I need to tell them?" Marcus asked him with a grin, "You're doin' a fine job without my help."

Burk growled something, no doubt another negative comment, and stalked off, his own armor clunking.

"Quite the friendly bunch," Logan commented, having sized up his new friends. Still, considering the people he had been associated with in prison, this was nothing he couldn't handle. Of course, the crucial difference…men in prison didn't have huge ass guns.

"Yeah, we're just the friendliest bunch of assholes you can meet. Give'em a little time, and they'll get past the point of hatin' your guts."

_"MARCUS!" _The yell came from the nearest barracks, from none other than Bennett, who was standing at the door, bawling his head off.

"Sir," Marcus answered, saluting.

"Those pansies better be done shootin', cause I just got an updated message. We need ta get our asses in gear; our assignment has been pushed up, and we can't be sittin' here drinkin' iced tea all day! All you boys gotta load up yer shit, and get ready to move out! We leave at nineteen hundred! And if ya ain't ready, we'll be droppin' your ass off into ta nearest black hole!"

"One hour?" Marcus called back, sounding a little put out, "Kinda short notice ain't it Sarge? You sure these newbs are gonna be ready?"

"They better be, or it's your ass! Now quit your yakin', and get ta walkin'! Now!" With his orders, Marcus shrugged, and refaced the men.

"Guess the lessons over. Try and remember what little you've learned today…Crap like that tends to save your ass more often than you think. Lucky for you, since you guys haven't been here more than two hours, you don't got any stuff to pack. But I do. I got to go…Go talk to the Sarge, I'm sure he's got somthin' for you to do."

Marcus departed, leaving the rookies all alone.

"Guess we better get ready to go too," Quentin surmised, his expression not very fearful or caring. "Let's go talk to Bennett, and get the info of what we're doin'."

Logan wasn't too keen on going on this new mission, but the opportunity hadn't presented itself for him to escape. Of course, he hadn't expected to vanish in the first day…that would have been _too_ suspicious. He was planning on waiting a while. Go on a few missions, trying to keep his head from being blown off, gaining some trust among his fellows, and then vanishing right when security was lax.

There was much hustle and bustle among the occupants of the camp; civilians, technicians and workers all rushing about, apparently they too were being called up for this mission. All the buildings and majority of the combat vehicles were to remain behind, as another detachment of Gamma Squadron would be sent to fill in, and keep things running. The Sarge bawled at the rookies to get out of everyone's way, but ordered them to help load up some ammunition crates into one of the many dropships.

Simple grunt work, more for the SCV's cruising around, but when it was something to do, it was welcome. Sitting around could get kind of boring after a time. Things were loaded, and all the civilian personal on the base gathered, as well as the new and improved Unit 507. There was Sergeant Bennett, naturally at the head, followed by his unofficial second in command, Marcus. There was Colt, Malcolm, Gunner, Burk, and Chaz. Not to mention the four new guys, Logan, Johnny, Cyrus, and Quentin. And the last guy, one mean-ass looking dude.

Wild greasy black hair and beard, dark sunglasses over his eyes, a few visible scars on his face, and a somewhat unhinged grin. Daemon, who was the most…combat savvy. The one who earned the name Blood & Guts. He had a penchant for killing his foes to the last man, savoring combat, always yelling and howling at the sheer delight of it. A man unhinged one might say.

When everyone had gathered, the Sarge ordered everyone on to their respective dropships, and strap in. They were going to fly back up to their orbiting craft, and use that for primary transportation. The ride was quick and unsettling, Logan resisting the urge to sweat in his suit. Bodily fluids and high voltage hardware never mingled well together.

Their escorts were still waiting for them, but another two ships had since docked at the space platform. Another tanker ship, much like the first clunker, and a much nicer looking vessel, no doubt the transportation for whoever it was they were escorting. The Magistrate or whatever. The marines went back to the same vessel, while the nonmilitary went to the other. Once everyone was situated, the ships broke away from the platform, and began the next leg of their journey.

The soldiers mingled in the same small lounge area Logan and everyone had been before, being an even tighter squeeze now that they were all suited up. Except the Sarge. He was the only one not wearing armor. Perhaps it was just his preference. Drinking beer and talking can sure make time pass quickly…

"Hope they got some new toys for us there," Colt said aloud, having a sly grin on his face. "One of those hover-cycles or maybe some high performance tank…"

"Shit, you're right on the nosy there," Gunner hollered, getting all excited, wiggling around in his harness, "A fuckin' tank, with those big ass eighty millimeter cannons! Those fuckin' things will blow a hole through a goddamn mountain!"

"What's the need for the ship," Logan asked suddenly, finally realizing that this trip seemed to be rather lengthy, "We're just circling the planet right?" The veterans gave him a funny sort of look, then Bennett slapped his head.

"Shit, now I remember! Those damn debriefing idiots didn't give you boys the full story…Fuckin' figures, count on those lazy bastards to start slackin' and just send ya out here with nothin' but a guess, and ya thumbs up ya butt. Ah, no use bellyachin' 'bout it I guess. Alright, as commander here, I guess it's my job ta brief ya." He cleared his throat, pulling his cigar out of his mouth so that he might be understood better.

"We're long gone from Brontes IV. We got orders ta escort this colonial Magistrate to Mar Sara ta help keep the peace after Chau Sara was blown ta smitherines by those damn aliens. Can't say I'm too comfortable with goin' there myself, but…"

"Hold the phone," Logan interrupted, looking as if he was going to break free of his harness in order to stand in surprise, "You mean we're…being sent to the front line? Into the combat zone?"

"Heh, son Unit 507 _is_ called the Doom-Bringers. What tha hell did ya expect? We're sent into the most hostile of places 'cause we're the toughest group around. So to be simple…yeah, that's it in a nut shell."

Logan couldn't believe it…All this time, he had been waiting and watching for a chance to escape and start his life over again, and suddenly he finds out that he's being sent off into the wasp's nest, probably to get blown up. It was intolerable, and he started to see a deep shade of red behind his eyes, his anger starting to swell within.

"Well fuck that then, you can count me out! Why the fuck are they sending _me_ to a place like that! Why am I even in a place like _this_?"

"It ain't easy ta swallow, believe me, I cursed my lungs out when I saw the order, but that's what the higher ups orders, so their ain't around it…"

"Fuck the higher ups! Fuck the Confederacy! Those conniving slimy pieces of dogshit would sooner get cooperation from my corpse! I hope they burn in Hell, those yak-faced lowlifes!"

Everyone stared at him, their faces not showing shock, but a little surprise at such clear and vaunted hatred towards their superiors. Bennett's face was somber, as he puffed once more at his cigar. He leaned out. "Call me crazy, but you _don't_ sound like a man who's been Resocialized…Quite the opposite in fact…I don't suppose you'd care to explain that?" Logan froze, knowing what had happened. He should have known better, letting his own personal hatreds seize control of his mouth. He had just given the game away…

He didn't answer, but his expression did become somewhat fearful. That was more than enough of a response for the Sarge.

"I see…Ya never went through it did ya? Ya managed to slip around it somehow…Pretty sneaky of you boy. And very dangerous…To bring that sort of hatred with ya is a major crime…I suppose I should expect that from a convict. An' now that I know…the question is what ta do with ya…?" Logan stiffened in his combat suit; the mechanical fingers of his gloves began to tighten. He was bracing for what was to come, and even began to wondered if he could maybe hijack the ship somehow.

Bennett's face didn't change, as he glanced from one man to the next, his eyes stern and cold. Then, unbelievingly…he began to grin and started to hoot and holler with laughter.

"Hah ha ha…Chill out kid, I'm just fuckin' with ya. None of us give a shit about that crap...hell, we think it's just dandy. An' you may be surprised ta hear it, but not a one of us went through Resocialization either. So we're in the same ship…"

"You?" Logan asked, still on edge. For good reason. He had been certain that if his dirty little secret had been blown, he would have been arrested on the spot, and sent off to the nearest detention center to have his head screwed with. But the fact that he didn't have shackles over his wrists seemed to suggest something else.

"You never went through it either? How the hell is that possible?"

"Simple kid…Every one of us, save you new boys…ain't convicts. We joined the armed forces on our own free will. That Resocialization ain't required for us. Only for you boys that got grudges against 'em."

"Well, if you don't really care for their policies, then I don't suppose you'd let me walk out now?" Bennett sighed, leaning back in his seat, puffing at his cigarette. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment or two, then made a grunt, and brought his gaze back down to meet Logan's.

"Well, it's a bit late for that kid. We're already underway, an' we ain't makin' any U turn now. An' we can't exactly just make a pit stop somewhere along the way an' let ya jump ship. First of all, you wouldn't last very long on your own. Secondly, chances are you'll eventually be picked up by a passing Confederate convoy, and be charged with goin' AWOL. An' that ain't a situation with a pretty outcome, I can promise ya."

He paused, and sat with a pensive face. Perhaps he was recalling an old incident about such a thing, perhaps something he had done himself, or someone he had been aquatinted with. Abandoning their post, getting caught, and suffering the consequences. From his somber expression, it was logical to assume that the AWOL soldiers hadn't merely gotten a little slap on the wrist. After a moment of inner musing, he went on.

"Some boys can escape from active duty, but those posts are so unimportant, that nobody misses 'em. But if ya vanish from the front lines, somebody's _gonna_ notice. And when they catch ya, there'll be hell ta pay. But instead of prison, they'll just ship you out to somewhere else even more dangerous. There really ain't gettin' around it. I'd say you're best chance for right now is just ta stick with us. Besides, we need the extra hands, and who knows…maybe you'll find the lifestyle ta be enjoyable…"

"You don't get my position. I _hate_ the Confederacy with everything that I am. I would never do anything that would benefit them in anyway. I'd rather die first. And besides that, I've never been in the military before. I can already promise you that I'm not going to be much help."

"Hell, I didn't know jackshit when I first joined up either kid. Look at me now! I can make a goddamn bomb out of nothing but what most people got under their sinks, and I can shoot, fly, crawl, roll, hack, and kill just about anything I cross paths with. It takes some gettin' use to, sure, but that's to be expected. And in terms of ya hatin' the Confederates, don't think you're the only one. More than one man has passed this way with the same disposition as yours. Includin' myself. I hate them too. Just about everyone in tha unit does! Even ol' Cortez, God rest his greasy-ass soul…"

"Hang on a damn minute here," Logan pressed, "Because there's something here that I'm not getting. You just said that you hate the Confederacy right?" The Sarge nodded. "And you guy's as well?" The rest of the company nodded. "Then why the fuck are you doing this shit? Risking your neck just so they can keep their control?" The Sarge shook his head, scratched his long hair under his cap.

"It's kinda hard to explain son. We ain't doin' shit for the Confederacy. They're a bunch of assholes who don't care 'bout nothin' but themselves. An' when it comes to the rest of civilization, well, they ain't no prizes either, don't got no sense on how to protect themselves. They're like a bunch of sheep, stupid as a pile of rocks, and no spine to speak of. But how do you think we've all survived this long? Because the world needs people like us. Tough motherfuckers that go out, kick ass and make sure we don't die."

Logan was listening carefully, understanding what Bennett was saying, but still…not understanding it. It sounded too farfetched to take serious, this hardass of a man having such noble intentions like that. It seemed…_very_ out of place and just weird. So, naturally, he was skeptical about things.

"You're telling me, that all of you are doing all this stuff just so humanity can keep on living? That doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, as most of the time we're just killing each other."

"True enough, but I don't expect it somethin' you'd understand right off. Sheltered boy like you has a harder time graspin' it. It goes deeper than that, and that's just _my_ reason. Each one of us on this ship has our own unique purpose for riskin' our lives. Like Chaz over there, he's fightin' to make the worlds safe for his family. It takes some hours of long thought to find yer own reason fer doin' this. A sorta self truth that justifies what we're doin'. An' now, because of the shit goin' on, its just made us all the more set in our purpose. Some damn aliens blowin' up a world, and threatenin' us? I don't know what we did ta piss'em off, but I ain't letting them blow us up on my watch. They mess with me, then I'll fill those suckholes full of lead up to their eyeballs. We may just be men, but I'm gonna do my part to keep us alive. That's as sure as shit!"

"I'm just not getting it," Logan sighed, this conversation, hell the whole situation giving him one serious headache. The tension of being discovered and finding out he'll be thrust into a potentially deadly skirmish has a way of stressing someone out a bit.

"Like I said, that's ta be expected with a newb like ya. But I'll tell ya what kid, seein' as I'm such a bleedin' heart…Come with us, and help us keep the peace on Mar Sara. While you're there, I want ya to try and find a reason to keep at it. If ya honest ta god can't, then maybe I'll try ta smuggle yer sorry whiny ass out of there. But if you _can_, you hang with us, an' kill shit. What do ya say?"

There wasn't much else Logan could do. Considering, he was just relieved that he wasn't to be tackled to the ground, arrested and sent to some hellhole to have his mind played with in the same fashion that a child plays with a wounded bug. He was skeptical to find any reason to keep himself in the line of fire, but at this point, he'd rather be agreeable than belligerent.

"Deal."


	5. Jim Raynor & The Backwater Ruckus

**Chapter 5:** Jim Raynor & The Backwater Ruckus

With the business of driven purposes concluded and his lack Resocialization being overlooked, Logan went a long way into relaxing. Keeping up the charade had been a long taxing endeavor, since all everyone talked about was Confederacy this, and Confederacy that, and Logan was so very tempted to yell out, "Fuck the Confederacy." But now…now he could, and no one would care. That was a bonus.

Just as the name stated, the fringe worlds weren't just around the corner, but a larger distance away, the sector needing to be crossed. This journey would take some time, even with the subspace engines. After hanging out with the unit, talking and laughing, sharing dirty jokes and swapping pictures of hot women, they adjourned towards their Cryo-Chambers, to engage in suspended slumber during the course of the trip.

Of course, with this convenient sleep, it didn't seem too long. For before anyone realized it, they were roused, and being bitched at to prepare to disembark.

Logan had been put in a cold sleep chamber before, back when he was still happily employed by the Confederates, and he hadn't really enjoyed it then. The thought of being put into a sleep that deep was unnerving, even for one as hardened as him, and the grogginess that follows waking up is almost nauseating.

Not to mention that one usually has to piss something awful when they thaw. But this time didn't seem so bad; the sleepiness _was_ bothersome, especially when he was expected to be running around, preparing for their departure.

"Shit, put ya ass in gear boy!" Gunner bawled as he passed him, kicking him in the shin, "Times a wastin' while yer lollygaggin' around with ya head up ya butt!" Chaz, who was passing, heard this and began to make an idiotic sounding laugh; doubling over braying like a donkey, as he was half carrying half dragging what looked to be an ammo case.

"Knock off that fuckin' noise," Daemon growled at him, "It's irritating as hell! An' watch where yer slinging that case, that's live ammo in there! You'll blow us all ta hell before I get a chance to blast some alien freakshow's nuts off!"

There was a general shuffle of motion, as everyone gathered up their gear, securing crates and other supplies, all the while the overhead loudspeakers was shouting at them to hurry. It wasn't a very relaxed way to wake up…

With all the ruckus, and not being accustomed to such motion, Logan hung back, his gun resting on his shoulder. One couldn't really blame him for keeping out of the way. If he tried to help, he'd undoubtedly be told to do exactly what he was doing now. So, he didn't bother. When he saw Marcus struggling to carry a long mass of power cables, they coming unraveled and tangled as he walked, he stepped out to help, grabbing the loose ends, and wrapping them over his own shoulder.

"Thanks for that," Marcus called back, finding it difficult to look over his shoulder in his armor, "Damn thing wouldn't stay rolled up." The two men carried into one of the nearby drop ships, and handed off the lines to a worker in a SCV suit.

"You know," Marcus said aloud, as the two of them walked back to the secondary loading dock, "You gave us all a pretty big surprise a while ago. Slippin' around Resocialization is pretty sneaky…Mind if I ask how'd you pull that off?"

"When a guy has friends in high places, things can be overlooked rather easily…If you know how the system works, and where the holes are."

"Ah, so you got a buddy on the outside huh? That's must'a been relieving for you to hear." This was true, as Logan was certainly not objecting to having his head toyed with. Still…

"I suppose, but I would have rather remained in prison then be sent out here. I'm no soldier; I've never even shot a gun before today. I have a hunch that I'm going to be fairly useless out there."

"Don't be worryin' your pretty little head about it rookie…No one ever wants to come out to fight…" they passed by Gunner and Daemon who were talking about killing aliens, "With perhaps the slim fraction of seriously fucked up guys, but we do 'cause someone's got to do it. Might as well be us. 'Sides, you got pretty good aim for someone who's never shot a gun, damn near blew Colt's hand off…hah ha…I tell you what, when we get to the surface, you hang with me, and I'll show you how to do shit around here. You'll get it in no time."

"Why just me?" Logan inquired, "What about the other three new guys?"

"Well, I ain't hittin' on ya if that's what ya think, and I ain't playin' favorites neither. I just got the feelin' that they don't need someone lookin' after'em as bad as you…They seemed to be more comfortable in the marines than you do. I suspect that Resocialization's got somethin' to do with it."

Logan wasn't going to argue. There didn't seem a way for him to slip away while stranded on a fringe world, the outer territories. If he was going to have to fight, he'd like to get good at it before he got killed. Hanging with a veteran most definitely increased his chances of survival.

With everyone's combined efforts, all their dropships were loaded up with equipment and civilian personnel, and ready to roll. The soldiers boarded their own high capacity carrying unit, stowed their guns, and strapped in. In the typical lurching of motion, their craft powered up and lifted off, exiting the larger transport vessel through the airlock.

Three other dropships followed after them, making it a small convoy. Pulling away from the ship, they were circling over the outlying colony of Mar Sara, a desolate place, and not the prettiest world. There was a shift in the crafts angle, no doubt preparing for the bumpy decent.

_"YEE-HA BOYS!"_ Cyrus hollered, straining against his harness, bouncing back and forth in his seat due to his exhilaration, "This is it, we're headin' down! Hold on to ya hats and ya asses, 'cause this is gonna be one crazy ride!"

"Yeah," Colt cracked with an unpleasant grin, "That's what my girlfriend said too…" And with the unsettling notion of plummeting, the dropship hurled itself into the upper atmosphere, rocketing to the surface, the others right behind. The whole inside of the APC began to rattle and groan, the stress of reentry pressing inward on the steel supports.

But there was little danger; these ships were built to take that sort of pressure all the time. There was a tense moment, then things stabilized, a sign that they had made it through the atmosphere, and were closing in on the planets surface. Logan just clenched his fists, and waited for their little trip to end.

Which it did…After getting close to the surface, the ships stayed up high, soaring amongst the clouds heading for their target destination. It happened to be a city, though when compared to the ones on Tarsonis and other worlds, it was rather lackluster. After circling around a couple of times to get clearance, the four ships touched down, everyone disembarking.

They didn't have much time for sightseeing, as at once there were several ground transport loaders which would carry all the personnel to the outskirts of the diminutive metropolis. They passed by the numerous colonists, all of whom looked quite apprehensive as they went about their daily lives. A unit of military forces rolling through the streets isn't usually a positive sign of the stability of things.

"Okay boys, get the wax outta ya ears, and listen up!" Bennett roused the men out of their daydreaming state, "We've gotten our first job from the higher ups…transmission from Duke. We gotta move all these primary colonists to the outlying wastelands. Somethin' ta do with the damn alien attack. Our job is to clear a road for 'em while some other militia forces keep'em guarded. We'll be getting' some help from the local military force, and they'll be sendin' their best man to give us a hand. He's a Marshall 'round here, so mind ya manners when ya spot him. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Burk asked, having the same less than enthusiastic expression on his face, "Is this mission, so called really worth our time? To be called here to baby-sit whiny colonists hardly seems like the best use of our destructive talents."

"I think you need to get the head out of your ass Spicer, and see the bigger picture here. These people are the closest planet to Chau Sara, which if ya might recall was blown clear off the map. These folks out here have had the shit scared out of 'em, and when people get scared, they tend to start doing some crazy ass crap. We need ta reassure them with their safety so they don't panic, then we'll have ta go from there."

"Whatever you say Sarge, but I still think this mission is fucked up."

"Yeah, well so are you, ya creepy bastard. Alright ladies, look alive!" With a general amount of shouting and cursing, the unit rode to the outskirts of the city. There they encountered a small detachment of militia troops waiting for them, as well as a few more transport vehicles, some civilians manning SCV's, and mobile supply trucks.

With the arrival of Unit 507, everything got moving. With them being so distinguished, and having more combat experience, and…well, more experience in the field than any of the local militia, they took point in the first two cars, establishing the forward lookout position. Furthermore, Bennett was given direct command over all the other forces for the time being, the sergeants of the militia groups following his orders.

When they'd meet up with the local head of Mar Sara law enforcement and protection, he'd probably take a high level of command. Of course, everyone would be acting under the direct orders of the head Magistrate of Mar Sara, who had traveled to the planet with them, and in turn, he'd be under orders from the higher ups on the Confederate ladder of command.

The procession was quite a sight to the few people they past in the meager shelters on the outer limits of the city. It was a whole line of military forces, accompanied by the support forces, ready to establish a base of operations to safeguard the coming colonists.

The ride was long, boring, and uncomfortable. The temperature of the wastelands were exactly what one would expect, dry and warm, even though the day itself was cloudy. Nothing even remotely interesting presented itself as the convoy left the city further and further behind.

They passed a few radio way-stations, some manned, others were automated, and a few other shambles of buildings dotting the wind-swept rocks along the road. They saw no life save a wandering person or two, and some creatures that were native of the planet. Harmless and no cause for any concern.

Despite it being so quiet, there was still guard detail and patrols circling the convoy itself, to ensure it wasn't ambushed. Most everyone, including Bennett was rather skeptical about _anything_ attacking them, but with the looming threat of hostile aliens descending from above, it seemed wiser to do it than not.

The security consisted of small remote vehicles, which would scan the roads ahead for any obstructions, life-forms, or radio signals. In addition, a few militia forces would make passes in small cars going up and down, back and forth along the long line of trucks.

It must have been two hours at least before they got any sign of activity, besides one of the local animals. The scanners picked up something approaching. Something made of metal, something fast moving, and something not trying to hide signs of its passing. For it wasn't ten seconds after they got the alert, when Marcus, who was riding in the second car stood, leaning out of the frame, and pointed.

"Hey Sarge, I can see a dust trail! Somthin's headin' this way!"

"I can see that, ya dumb shit!" Bennett hollered back, "Alright, hang on a sec y'all. " The Sarge rose up from his seat in the lead vehicle to get a better look at the approaching cloud, picked up the radio, and bawled into it. "Listen up Blue One; we got an unidentified bogy here. Probably nuthin', but I want ya ta hang back 'till we make a positive ID. If things get hairy, you come runnin' with the backup."

There was some static, as the sergeant in the truck behind them gave some manner of response. However, the whole convoy behind them halted, as per orders.

"Well now," the Sarge sat back down in his seat, "Let's go say hi boys. Stay frosty…you know the drill"

Logan, not knowing the drill, felt himself growing rather tense, at the possible battle looming ahead. He certainly hoped that they could avoid battles altogether, but in an unfriendly environment like that, who could say. "Do you think it's a…hostile," he asked the guys riding with him, trying to adopt the lingo of a marine as best he could.

"Who the fuck knows?" Colt answered with a noticeable uninterested tone, leaning heavily over the steering column, "Probably just some wreckage salvager. These wastelands are crawlin' with those damn vultures."

As it happens, he wasn't entirely wrong. In a roar of a modified Ion Thruster engine system, and a shower of dust and loose gravel, a Vulture hover-cycle came sliding to a stop along side the unit's vehicles. The man sitting astride the obviously custom built hog pulled off a helmet, giving the whole approaching company an amiable grin.

He looked rather rugged, no doubt a local of the area, adopting a heavy duty riding suit, probably to keep all the dirt out of his clothes. On one of the sleeves of the biker outfit, as well as on the front fender of the bike, was a faded Confederate symbol. He had short light tan hair, and looked to be rather passive. The newcomer lifted off his sweet ride, and ambled forward, having a swagger of a man in charge. He gave them a salute of his own, not very serious, just a wave of a hand past his brow.

"Howdy boys, I'm Jim Raynor, marshal of these parts. Good to have some cavalry rollin' down the road for once."

"Ahh, so you're the man we're lookin' for then," Bennett leapt out of his truck, and sauntered out with a very similar swagger to the marshal. He gave a much sterner salute, mainly because he was probably under this mans command.

"Sergeant Ray Bennett sir! An' yer damn right, I've brought a whole cargo-load of whup-ass with me. We got orders to establish a base camp on tha ass-end of this planet, an' move all tha people out 'ere. Care ta give us a hand?"

"Hey, it's my job too," Raynor told him, "And I hate to bring the bad news, but I think you'd all better keep heads up. We've had some problems around here, an' things are looking pretty bleak. But hopefully with you guys as backup, we can handle what gets tossed our way."

"What sort of problems?" Logan called from the truck, standing himself, not liking talk of things getting complicated. Bennett shot him a dirty look, but Jim didn't seem to notice.

"We've already tried to start movin' people out to the wastelands, but we keep runnin' into these weird unidentified creatures. Creepy-ass critters, aliens that ain't from this planet. They've already ambushed a couple of our patrols…Killed the poor bastards."

"Aliens?" Bennett mused thoughtfully.

"Ya mean those motherfuckers already made it 'ere?" Gunner called out, stroking the firing mechanism for the truck's mounted twenty millimeter assault cannon, "Hell, they got a shitload of nerve…"

"Shut up all that chatterin' ya damn apes," Bennett howled at them shaking a fist, "We ain't paid tha stand around with ya mouths flappin'! We're paid ta make shit dead! Ya got it?"

"We aren't even paid for that…" Malcolm, the silent one grunted.

_"I SAID SHUT IT!_ Well," turning back to Jim, "Whatever tha case, we're here ta help ya out. Once we get a base established, we can open a convoy route tha shuttle people out here."

"Way ahead of you," Raynor told him, "I've already had a few field teams head out, and establish a couple of bases, what with the aliens runnin' around. I'm thinkin' we're going to need a little extra protection to handle the things, if we're going to keep 'em off the colonists."

"Good call…Well, we'd better head out that way, an' clear the road. An' if any aliens got the balls ta attack us, we'll blow'em off." With that settled, Bennett called up the rest of their procession, getting ready to move. Logan was still curious about the happenings, as they directly affected his personal safety and well-being.

"So," Logan asked Jim, who was heading back to his bike, "Are these the same aliens that attacked Chau Sara?" Raynor sat on the seat, picking up his helmet, holding it across the handlebars.

"Unfortunately no…But I kinda wish they were. Those aliens were at least intelligent enough to talk, so maybe they could have been reasoned with. But these new ones…they don't seem to be in the habit of talking things out. They spot ya, then they're on your ass, and don't quit 'till you kill them, or they kill you."

"Hold the phone," Marcus broke in, "What are you gettin' at? You mean to tell me that there's more than one kinda alien out here?"

"Yup, sad to say. And these things are much different. I haven't seen a scarp of technology; nothing but biological. But they sure as hell are as violent as the other ones."

"Hot diggity damn!" Daemon whooped, clearly taking this news better than everyone else, "Sounds like fun ta me! I get the chance ta blow the shit outta two kinds of aliens instead of just one! This _is_ a good day!"

So with that settled, off they went again, traveling with the marshal as their escort. Logan certainly liked Raynor, and he got the feeling that most of the other guys did too. Even Bennett seemed relieved that they weren't reporting to a jerkoff with no sense of concern towards the people on the colony. Jim was easy-going, casual, and looked pretty tough, not to mention intelligent. Having a moron in charge isn't a fun picnic. Having him around would make things more pleasant.

Of course, from the way he was talking, Logan was still worried, and had an idea that things weren't even getting started. There was the alien fleet, calling themselves the Protoss, and now something else entirely was massacring the people on the colony. It sounded to Logan that combat was right around the corner.

The scenery didn't change much as they kept going, nothing but craggy windswept rocks and hard dusty ground as far as a man could see. There were a few small radio outposts, not to mention a few other dust trails over the horizon, but Jim went on to say that they were probably patrols of other militia forces. Raynor led the way naturally, being in charge as well as knowing the terrain better than the rest. He hadn't been with them for long when the computer in lead car began to chirp.

"Aw shit," Bennett grumbled, "We've got a message incomin' from the main office." He snatched the radio, and shouted, "All units hold up! We got us some new orders!" The convoy slowed down and stopped in a blast of dirt. Raynor pulled his bike up next to Bennett's truck, to listen in. After booting up the system, the automated Adjutant came online.

--

--

_- - - Priority Alert! Backwater station under attack by unidentified alien organisms - - -_

_- - - Distress beacon activated at 0658 - - -_

_- - - Alerting Confederate Headquarters on Tarsonis - - -_

--

--

"Shit," Raynor growled, "Those damn things are at it again. We got to get our asses over there…" Before he could move however, another incoming transmission was established. The voice was of an older man, heavy drawling accent. Logan had no idea who it was; he'd never heard it before.

"_We've already received the distress beacon from Backwater, and we'll take care of it. Y'all just sit tight. You'll be notified if there's anything we think you need to know."_ And with that, the transmission was cut.

"Damn," Raynor cursed, "As if he'll get here in time to do anything…Why the hell are those guys so dismissive about things like this?"

"Yeah," Bennett agreed, "Duke's a major prick alright, thinks he's got all the fringe worlds wrapped neatly around his little finger. And he don't take guff from nobody. Lousy dipshit…"

That was a name that Logan knew…General Duke. Back when he had worked for the Confederacy, despite not being in the military he knew the name General Duke. The Confederacy's most talented general. He ran Alpha Squadron out there on the outer rim…_That's the unit that Jack was sent to_, Logan remembered, _Wonder how that lunatics doing?_ Raynor's voice brought him back from that inner question.

"If we wait around for Confederate reinforcements, then that stations history. We got to get moving out that way pronto and rescue those folks."

"I know what ya mean, but we got our orders to meet up with the advance unit first, and start securin' the transportation line for the colonists. If we start screwin' around, goin' off mission, we're gonna get court marshaled…an' I know Duke ain't the forgivin' type. Hell, he'd probably arrest his own mamma if she broke the law…Course, I don't think it'll hurt none if we send out a relief squad that way once we reach the outpost." Raynor nodded, settling back into his bike, revving it up.

"Well alright…I'll head out that way now, and see what I can do. After you boys settle in, you send in the militia, and we'll save that station." With a roar, he was off, tearing across the wastelands at a much faster pace, showing off the incredible speed those hover-cycles were capable of.

Bennett watched him go, growling and rubbing his scruffy hair. One could see that he would have much preferred to go with Jim and help the besieged station out, rather than follow the orders of some higher up dickweed. He was biting his lip, looking mighty angry.

"Aw shit, I can't let 'em go alone…Marcus! Get up here!" Marcus gave Logan a grin.

"Here we go, watch this." He tapped Colt on the helmet, who drove the secondary vehicle along side the main one.

"What's up Sarge? Have a change of heart suddenly?"

"Quit with tha antics, ya fuckin' smart-ass. I want you and your crew to follow after him. Take two militia squads with ya, and give'em a hand. I'll take the rest on ahead, and at least pretend like we're followin' orders. Now move it!"

"Yes sir!" With a screech of tires and a sudden U turn, jostling Logan about, Colt turned them around, to drive pass the militia forces trailing behind them. "Red 4 and Green 2…you're followin' us! Get the lead out!" The two trucks pulled out of line, and fell in behind the second car, and the three vehicles took off after Raynor. Bennett watched the small detachment roll off.

"Watch ya ass's boys," he called into the radio, "There's somethin' bad in tha air…"

--

--

--

There was no hope in catching up with Raynor, his hover-cycle could tear up the ground and almost leave fire trails behind, it was so fast. Their sluggish rovers weren't anywhere near that, but they were more armored, not to mention all-terrain. Which was good, because the ground was getting rockier and more uneven as they went on.

Logan disliked the bumpier ride, not to mention that he was in a state of conflicting mindsets. On part of him wanted so very badly to have been in the lead car with Bennett, thus avoiding this undoubtedly dangerous situation. And yet, he knew there were people, colonists who had nothing to do with the Confederacy, save living under its heel, were being attacked by hostile aliens. He was a marine…sort of…and he had a gun. It just felt natural that he should at least try and help them.

_Ah shit_, he groaned inside, _this must be what Bennett was talking about. A reason to risk my neck for people. But I got my own problems to deal with…I can't be bogged down by everyone else's…_

Despite this, he urge to remain uninvolved, he still couldn't silence that nagging voice inside. His conscience. He had thought it had been forcibly removed when he had been sent to prison. But no, it was still there and acting up.

"What the hell? Why are you slowing down you idiot?" Logan snapped back to the now, and glanced up and around. Marcus was leaning up next to the driver seat.

"Take a look up ahead dipshit." Colt answered, "Can't ya see it?" At this, everyone began to crane their necks, squinting. "Down the road aways, near the base of the hill…there's somethin' there. And it ain't a rock."

"Better check it out. Okay boys, keep your eyes peeled. I don't want somethin' ta jump out while are pants our down. Take us over there Colt." With a growl of the engine, the jeep darted forward, slipping down the dune. As they approached, they strained their eyes, but it wasn't until they got right on top of it could they see it clearly. Of course, even then, it still was hard to describe.

It was a misshapen mass, whatever it was, but it was a creature. It had legs and everything. Marcus waved at the trailing militia units. "Check around the area. I want to know if there are any lifesigns around." With a salute and a cloud of dust, the two other groups departed, spreading out. Everyone turned their eyes back to the…thing.

"What the fuck _is_ that?" Colt asked, leaning over the side of the jeep, "Looks like some giant motherfuckin' bug…" The rest of the crew exited the car save Gunner, and encircled whatever it was.

It was rather sizeable, maybe as big as a man. It had what could be deemed as four legs, with a rather nasty set of long slender claws attached to the end of each foot. Its head was narrow, with a lower maw, gaping open. At the opposite end, it had a short numb of tail, and all along it there were spines and jagged ends making its body a daunting shield that a guy wouldn't want to touch.

As if that wasn't weird enough, its body looked hard, but not like a metal. More like a shiny rock face, an outer layer of bone or something. The whole thing was covered with a clear viscous substance, some of it dripping off its body. And a pale green mucus was dribbling out of its mouth, not to mention a mixture of red green substance was oozing from several large holes in its body, wounds piercing the outer protection.

"I don't know 'bout y'all," Gunner commented, looking it over with a grimace, "but I've seen some pretty weird shit before. But I'd have ta say that this here takes tha cake, the taco, and just about everything else too. I ain't never seen anything like that before."

"You think it's alive?" Quentin asked, stepping around it.

"Don't look like it." Marcus crouched next to what looked to be the head. "This son of a bitch has run into somethin' that didn't like him. Probably a patrol group or something."

With a cautious hand, Marcus took hold of the snout-end of the thing, and lifted it. Its mouth parted with a sickening crunch of bone, its jaw probably broken. The inside of its mouth was just as unsightly as the outside, rows of bizarre needle-like teeth, vile looking gums, and with a sticky mucus oozing in slimy patches across what could only be a tongue.

"Jesus God in Heaven," Daemon cursed, waving a hand in front of his nose, "That thing smells like its been eating garbage and shitting nuclear waste. Better be careful, this can gag a man. An' I thought these fuckin' aliens were gonna be prettier than that. Killin' something so ugly ain't as much fun."

Gunner was leaning in from his perch behind the jeeps gun, but a quiet beep from the dash drew his attention away from the current spectacle. It was the infrared scanners. It looked like it had picked up something. He looked around…

"Shit! Marcus! We got company…"

Everyone's eyes darted over to Gunner, who in turn was looking behind them. They whirled. There were seven more of the things emerging from some nearby scraps of brush. Except these weren't dead. Their bug-like eyes were glowing red, making chittering sounds and other noises that could almost be called a grinding. They were creeping forward with a few slow steps, their heads rolling, eyeing the soldiers.

"What _are_ they?" Quentin gaped, a clear tone of disgust and dread in his voice. Marcus lifted his weapon, and with a click, loaded it.

"I don't know, an' I don't care. But they sure look pissed off. Wax 'em boys!" Without waiting, the small force of marines began to fire their respective rifles. With an explosion of pieces, the first creature in line got punctured and blown to bits, as its legs tore off with torrents of icky blood, and parts of its exoskeleton chipped in ample patches. It let off a groaning squall as it fell to the ground dead, kicking the stumps of where its legs used to be.

With a violent growl, the rest of the group lunged forward, bounding across the earth at a startling rate. Bullets strafed the area in front of them, some of them merely bouncing off their armor, while other sinking in. Unfortunately, the bullets weren't stopping them fast enough, as while another two did drop and the rest were wounded, they kept coming.

As the things advanced, the men were slowly falling back, retreating to their transport to try and keep the distance between them and the targets constant, as well as to hang near the support fire of the heavy jeep mounted machine gun. As he was pulling back, Marcus saw that one guy hadn't moved with them. In fact, he wasn't even shooting, merely standing there. He knew who it was.

"Don't just stand there newb! Fire! Shoot the bastards!"

Logan had done what nearly any first timer of combat would do, in a real situation involving life and death. He froze. Seeing these monstrosities, knowing they were going to kill him, hearing the yelling and gunfire, the smell of smoke and fear in the air…he didn't know how to react. He could feel his blood rushing through his body; he could hear it pounding through his brain, his adrenalin all but screaming at him to act. But he was as iced up as snow itself.

"_GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR BOY!"_ Colt bellowed from somewhere, _"IT'S COMIN' RIGHT AT YOU!"_

Logan came back, seeing one of the things leaping right at him. He was vaguely aware of being struck, and it wasn't until he was jostled to the ground, did he feel his finger depress the trigger.

The mussel of the rifle was digging into the belly of the thing, and with a roar it fired, as dozens of the needle-like rounds pierced its body, passing through its viscous innards, and erupted out of its armored back with multiple squelching noises, turning the creature into a vile piece of Swiss cheese. It howled, writhing around on top of him, screeching and throbbing in a death throes, before collapsing.

Logan didn't move; he just laid there, the body of the slain creature on top of him, bleeding all over his armor. His gun had already emptied itself, making a hollow click. He was aware that the gunfire and shrieks began to fade. And he heard approaching footsteps.

"Is he alive?" he could hear someone ask. There was some heaving, and the weighty body was shoved off. Logan stared up, the dull sunlight overhead staring into his face. He felt as though he could hardly breathe.

"You alright rookie?" Marcus asked, grabbing his hand, and helping him up.

"Define alright," Logan answered after a moment, his mouth dry, and his face an unhealthy shade of white.

"Jesus," Daemon commented with a whistle, "That fuckin' thing barely touched you…Look at those goddamn clawmarks! Shit, a guy don't want ta get hit by those things full force. Take a chunk right out of ya. Man, you must got the luck of the devil newb."

"What happened?" he asked, still feeling completely out of it. His mind was swimming, his vision was going in and out of focus, and he never so badly wanted a stiff drink.

"You locked up on us," Gunner told him, "Must have been that smell. Nearly knocked me off my feet too."

"Shut up you asshole," Marcus grunted, steadying Logan who was feeling rather unstable, "You just never been in a fight before. Happens all the time. Sheltered kids coming onto the field, seeing bloodshed and death…it can really freak a guy out. Just breathe, an' if ya feel like vomitin', go right ahead. Won't be the first time."

Logan wanted to vomit, but he didn't think there was enough substance in his stomach to purge, so instead he swallowed several times, trying to resume breathing. As he was, there was another beeping from the central computer system of their rover, as the two militia jeeps came rolling up from behind another nearby dune. No doubt they were drawn by the sounds of gunfire. They pulled up next to the soldiers, and several of them leapt out, guns at the ready, looking for any other nearby enemies to blow away. Marcus wasn't exactly thrilled to see them.

"Where the fuck were you airheads at? We just got attacked by these fuckin' things and you guy's were off taking a piss somewhere! Goddamn…Don't tell me you idiots didn't pick up their lifesigns while you were out dickin' around?"

"Sorry sir," one of them mumbled an apology, "We caught sight of an encampment a bit further up. Might be where the Marshal is at."

"Good, than that means were almost there. Alright, get ya asses back in the car, we're headin' out." Everyone loaded up, and off they went again, leaving the dead bodies of the aliens behind. As they rode, they kept quiet, mainly because Logan was still a bit shaken. The silence was short lived however.

"Shit boy," Daemon glanced over at Logan, "I know that you're new round here, but ya gotta keep yer eyes open, lest they get ripped out. Ya can't freeze up like that, no matter how scared ya get. It'll do nothin' but get ya killed in the end. Honestly, I thought a tough-lookin' fella like yourself would'da been more suited to this sort of thing."

"Sorry to disappoint your expectations," Logan responded with a tone of annoyance, "But I've already said that I've never done this before. What the hell did you expect?"

"Take it easy kid," Gunner said, slapping him on the shoulder, "Now that you've got ya first kill, things will get easier for ya. Just remember this. Those fucker's want ta kill ya. Tell me, are ya gonna lay down an' let'em do it?"

"Hell no."

"Well then, there ya go boy. Always keep that in mind. If you want keep breathin', then ya got to remember all the time that it's either them…or you."

"Thanks for the advice."

Their banter was cut short as they rolled around another large rock, and caught sight of several buildings, their lights being an unmissable beacon. The station was small, with not but a command center, a few supply depots, and a barracks that could almost be called dilapidated. But they caught sight of a familiar sweet-ass hog parked next to the command center, meaning they had come to the right place. The jeeps pulled up just as the Marshal came strolling out, flanked by two marines.

"Hey boys," he greeted with a grin, there being a clear note of relief in his voice, "Glad to have you here. Looks like its time to kick some serious butt."

"Amen to that," concurred Daemon. Logan however…swallowed.


	6. They Are Zerg

**Chapter 6:** They Are Zerg

"The stations up that ridge, aways from here," Raynor pointed to a distant outcropping. "Soon as we gear up, we'll head over there and rescue those folks. Hopefully things haven't gotten too bad yet." They were standing on a minute hill of rocks, near the edge of the encampment. From the position that Raynor was indicating, a few dull lights could be seen over the lip of the distant rocks, giving the area an eerie glow.

"That's a hell of a walk," Marcus whistled, "And there might be more of those things along the way lookin' ta pick a fight. Fuckin' creepy crawlers…" At this, Raynor glanced his way.

"Sounds like you had a run in with them too huh? I told you, they're violent nasty things."

"No shit 'bout that," Colt concurred from behind, "They were crazy, ugly, an' smelled terrible. An' one of them tried to give ol' Stone here a big ol' kiss. He's lucky ta be standin' here, without missin' an arm or a leg. Came away with a little souvenir of its claws." At this, Jim glanced around at Logan, who was broodingly silent, and took a look at the long deep marks slashed into his armor, cutting through the reinforced plates.

"Jesus," Raynor commented, examining the clawmarks, "No wonder those things killed the patrols. They probably could cut their way into an armored vehicle with no problem with these. Man, this is one big pain in the ass."

"I hear that," Logan muttered.

"That may be," Marcus stomped out a cigarette, "But I'll be damned if some weird alien creatures are gonna scare Marcus Wade, second in command of Unit 507 away. We'll show'em what it means to fuck around with us."

"Now _that's_ an attitude," Raynor gave him a grin. "With you boys around, we can extract some serious payback from those suckers. We'll have to stock up on some ammo and other things." He checked a handheld computer attached to his belt, no doubt giving a report of the current resupply operation. "So I guess until then, you boys have free run of the camp. So long as you make sure no more of those things attack, you can do what you like."

With that, he hopped off the hill, and ambled back to camp, leaving the marines alone.

"So," Gunner asked with a grin of his own, "By _do what we like_," he started to chuckle, "Does that mean…"

"It sure as hell _doesn't_," Marcus cut him off curtly, "We're still here with a job ta do, an' I'll not have the Sarge chewin' my ass out because I was lax with you boys. You know him, he's got some weird sixth sense; he seems ta know when I let you boys have an' easy time, an' he likes ta yell at me 'bout it. 'Sides, this place don't seem to have the highest grades of security. I'm thinkin' that we'll need some of you boys at the front door, case more of those creepy ass monsters come knockin'. Now move ya asses!"

"Shit," Colt grumbled, "We seem ta have a miniature ball-buster in the workin' here. You'd do the Sarge proud."

"Hah ha, keep walking smartass." There were snickers as they departed. Logan, seeing as he was more or less a marine himself, sort of, made to follow. But a hand on his shoulder held him.

"You stay at the command center rook," Marcus gave Logan a mild look; "I think you need ta settle down a bit before ya go back out into tha+ line of fire. Wouldn't want ya to freeze up again, or lose ya grip of sanity. Get your bearings a bit first; I think that's the best thing fer ya right now." Logan had no complaints there, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the other soldiers, militia and other Unit 507 boys went hiking towards the defensive line.

The camp's position gave it an ideal defense, making things easier for the guards. Tall columns of rocks on three sides, creating natural protection. Nothing could get over and down those without falling and being smashed into paste. That left only the one opening, the way out and in. Which had numerous perimeter wires strung around to act as a makeshift wall, and several bunkers behind that for the infantry to hunker down inside, letting them shoot in safety.

Within the camp, there was constant motion. Mining efforts were in full swing; SCV's mining up a hard indigo crystal, and hauling it back to the command center. Others were going into and out of a refinery, carrying sealed crates full of precious gases. These minerals were the backbone of the armed forces, the way Logan understood it.

Other buildings were also being constructed; more supply depots as well as an engineering bay. Also hanging around the base were numerous militia soldiers. More than likely, they were cons from Mar Sara, not to mention with recent disturbances on the fringe worlds, probably more than a few were average citizens, forced into Confederate service. Just like him.

Despite these possible common bonds of brotherhood, Logan didn't mingle with the other soldiers. He hung back, sitting atop a crate in the shadow of the command center. He wasn't antisocial by nature, but in a hostile environment like this, when he was perhaps quite literally seconds from death…that puts a bit of a damper on ones chatty mood. His outlook on life and such at the moment were bleak, to put it mildly.

Eventually, Marcus strolled over, leaning against the wall. The silence lasted for some time between them.

"Is it always like this?" Logan asked after a while. Marcus didn't look his way, instead fishing around for a cigarette. He brought one to his lips and with a flip of a lighter, a interesting trick with those huge iron fingers, it flared up, and he took a long drag, blowing smoke through his grit teeth.

"Yep. War ain't no picnic Logan. It's dirty, its scary as shit, an' makes ya want ta take a shit. Most guys do…But it's just somethin' that's gonna happen, one way or another. The world ain't a peaceful place. It may seem like it when you're away from the action on Tarsonis, in a cushy office, doin' some pencil pusher job, and watchin' 'bout it on TV…But don't kid yourself. When yer out there yourself, mixin' it up with the enemy, it's a whole different ballgame. War is somethin' that we can't avoid sometimes. Somethin' bred into our species I guess. And now we got hostile aliens to contend with. I suppose if ya want ta think about it hard, ya got yourself ta do somethin' bigger than what ya did before goin' to prison."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, look at it like this. Before, ya may have had a job, a bunch of friends, a hot girlfriend maybe…But when its all said an' done, you're just another guy. Just like the million others schmucks in this sector. But here, in this hellhole, you're doin' somethin' that not every man can boast about. You're protecting mankind from gettin' our asses kicked by some greasy smelly aliens. Maybe when you finally get outta here, someone will throw you a big ol' party and parade. Hell, it'd be more than any of us ever got."

"Fame isn't really what I would call one of my major priorities in life right now. Staying alive is."

"Maybe so. But ya got a job that's rough, tough, an' make ya more of a man than prison could ever do. Plus, ya get to blow shit up. That's a bonus right there." Logan gave him a funny look, but couldn't keep a tiny grin off his face.

"I've never been too much of a fan of blowing up crap."

"Give it time, you'll find ya might got a taste for it. But until then, ya need ta get into a battle situation, and not lock up. That's the first step."

Logan stared down at his feet, feeling that sinking feeling in his guts return. Those thoughts kept coming back…How close he had come. Death had actually brushed up against him. And those things…God in heaven, those things were…terrible. Awful. In truth, he felt it was downright amazing that he _only_ locked up instead of falling unconscious. He was a tough guy, but he felt that there was no shame in fainting when one looks at something so grotesque and horrifying.

"Ya hate the Confederate's…right?" Logan looked over at him; Marcus was keeping his voice down, but his expression was straight.

"You know I do."

"Well, let me give ya a tip. Anger can help a man out here. It gets the blood pumpin', and gives ya the drive ta fight. Too much can make a man crazy, like Daemon. But just the right amount can make ya one pissed off motherfucker, who'll tear a hole through his enemy before the son of a bitch knows what's happenin'. Next time we get into a scrap, try an' think about all the reasons ya hate the Confederates. Everything that makes your blood boil. Then, let all that out through your gun and your actions. I guarantee you'll feel better 'bout this stuff."

"I'll…think about it…"

With that subject put on the backburner, the two began to chat like old friends; finding out they had quite a bit in common. Marcus too had worked in the Confederacy, as a programmer. He was laid off after the corporation he was contracted out to was bought out by some other company. He had no other skills, and was starved for money, so he joined the military.

And somehow, someway he had been brought into Unit 507 as the chief programmer, and had risen to the second in command, after the former number two had been _relieved_ because of a fragmentation grenade in the chest. Marcus also was born on Tarsonis, and didn't have much affection for the Confederates and their often times tasteless methods.

A few other militia soldiers stepped over and joined them, lighting up smokes, and just shooting the breeze. Logan was surprised that even the Resocialized soldiers hated the Confederates too, despite the mind-altering enhancement. Seems some hatreds can't be stomped out that easily…

It was a shame there wasn't any beer around, but unfortunately there wasn't much time to drink it or relax. In the military, there's always something going on, hence the mood of friendship and comfort was shattered by the screech of the alarm over the numerous speaks around the camp.

"Ah shit," Marcus spit out his cigarette, and yanked up his gun. "Those bastards are back again. Come on rook, to the front gate!" And off he ran. Logan however, had gotten caught up in the sudden motion, as other marines were rushing to the aforementioned gate.

But though he had been moving about in the combat suit for a while, he hadn't quite gotten the hang of running. It looked rather peculiar, as he was almost shambling along, trying to get the mechanical legs to respond in time with the adrenaline. He got it halfway right, managing a loping gait, advancing to the sounds of gunfire, yelling, and shrieking.

They had come back again all right, those weird aliens, rushing headlong towards the defensive line, tearing up the ground and howling in a high-pitched wail as they ran. The storm of bullets struck the first wave, but this wasn't like out in the wastelands, where it was only seven or eight. This was more like several dozen at least. Not only that, but there was something else with them. Enormous creatures, clearly standing out in the crowd, having the same insect look as the four-legged variety, but this was _far_ more terrifying to look at.

They were huge, easily ten feet tall, having the lower body like that of a giant worm. It had no visible legs; it only had what looked to be a long and muscular tail, covered in viscous slime, tapering off with notched grooves. It moved like a snake, slithering across the ground, but at a rate of speed that could chill the blood.

Its torso was wide, reared up off the ground like a poised cobra, with two insect appendages; and at the end of these _"arms"_ were two huge scythes, three curved feet of razor-sharp bone, dangling down in front. Its head was horrible. A huge gaping maw full of horrendous jagged teeth, two yellow eyes, slit and running back along the head, and a wide plate of bone behind its neck, almost like a wide cover. It was something that only could belong in a nightmare.

These…monstrous things, half a dozen of them, were hissing in a deep airy growl, mouths open wide, heads craned forward, as if straining for a bite. They didn't rush in as the smaller creatures did, they hung back. Then to everyone's amazement and horror, with a crackling of bone and dripping of pus, the carapace covering their wide chests began to open, viscous goo oozing to the dirt. With a grinding hiss, the creature's body tensed, and in a violent spasm, accompanied by a bizarre whooshing sound, it launched a volley of spines that rocketed towards the defense line. A chorus of agonized screams drew everyone's eyes.

An undersized group of marines had been directly in the path of the salvo. The four of them were standing there, hollering and moaning, as dozens of long thin shards of bone were protruding out of their chests, arms and legs. Several points were poking out of their backs. They had been skewered mercilessly, blood pouring from their fatal wounds, giving off their dying cries.

At once, the smaller fiercer attackers converged towards them, and with no emotional save savage delight, they dragged the dying men down, and began to tear them apart, chunks of armor, bone, and flesh flew from the shrieking mass of hideous aliens. No sooner had they finished, they swung around, and charge the perimeter again.

"Holy shit," one soldier yelled over the din, "They're firin' back!" Marines left and right began to dive into the dirt, to get low and out of the line of fire as more spikes went whizzing overhead.

Things looked grim as Logan arrived. The line was starting to crumble: a good portion of the defending marines had fallen, and these insect invaders were getting inside the camp. Logan was breathing hard, as he looked around him. The explosions, the fire, the blood, the screams of suffering; he started to feel his body go numb again; the same paralysis was beginning to creep back into his body. His vision began to blur, and he couldn't see anything. As if his body was preparing him for death…

_This is it; _he said to himself, his mind racing in a sickening haze, _I'm done. There's no way I'm getting out of this alive…I'm going to die here…_He saw…his home, his friends, Matt and others, his girlfriend, his life…gone…

_You gonna let them kill ya?_ Invading upon his thoughts, snapping him back from his anguish, was a voice from earlier. _Well, if ya don't want ta end up dead, then yer gonna have to kick the shit out of anythin' that tries to kill ya. It's that simple._

_Get angry, _another voice told him; _think of all the things that have happened to you, and let that help you._

Logan breathed, and began to think…His life and everything in it…It was happy, but right behind it…hovering just out of the light was the dire shadow of the Confederate rule that he hadn't even been aware of. Even in his day to day life, he had never noticed it. But it was there all the same, the same manipulation, the same lies, the same smug faces as they sentenced him to be locked away…

All at once, he started to see red, thinking about those Confederate bastards, how they had screwed his life up, lied to and manipulated everyone in the sector, how their had killed innocent people indiscriminately just to achieve _their_ goals; it was sickening. Logan wanted revenge, but if he was to be killed here…

_I can't go down here, _he ordered himself, tearing himself back from the edge of self-despair, _I can't die until they pay for what they've done. To me and everyone else. I can't be afraid here. I don't have the time for it._

Finally, his eyes came back, and he started to see again. Logan began to pivot his gaze, from left to right. The smaller creatures were getting inside, going after the workers. The larger aliens at the entrance were keeping the security tied up. Through the smoke, Logan could see the men of his Unit standing alone, firing until their guns ran dry. From the corner of his eye he saw motion, and one of the little fierce aliens was coming in to attack. He shifted slowly, turning to face it with his fixed glare.

_Kill me, will you? _he snarled at it inside,_ Bring it on you nasty little fucker!_

"_**NO!"**_ he roared aloud across the battlefield, feeling animation and rage surge through his whole being. Suddenly, he rushed head to head with the approaching enemy, charging the charger, pulling the trigger when the two closed. With an eruption of fire from his rifle, the first one began to shatter, the near point blank impact causing its body to fall apart. But he kept going, as two more were right behind it.

Without even thinking, he began to tightly strafe the area directly in front of him, showering the narrow area with bullets. Such a calm and valid tactic was something that should have been beyond a rookie like him. Nonetheless, the effect was still there, the close range taking its toll on the aliens, getting impaled countless times, falling to the dirt bleeding. Logan dashed onward, slapping a new clip into his gun, leaping over their corpses, stepping in their rapidly congealing blood.

His goal was the command center, where inexperienced militia soldiers were trying to hold their position. If their central command fell, it was all over. Logan didn't care about that, the only thing on his mind, in its focused crimson vapor was to kill those goddamn aliens. There were two of the bigger things blasting the command center with spikes, occasionally slithering forward to gut a helpless worker with their giant scythes.

Logan didn't slow down as he approached the first; he didn't even realize what he was doing. The thing was four feet taller than he was, and must have weighted a good two hundred pounds more, and yet he leapt through the air, and tackled the thing on its blind side, while it was having a field day with the SCV's.

He must have caught it off guard, and it fell forward on its face, squirming like a hapless cockroach under his own weight. It might have been strong enough to throw him off, but it was never given the chance; Logan jammed the barrel of his rifle into what he could judge as its spine and/or back of its head, and with a shout of, "Die motherfucker!", deposited some lead in there. The front of its head blew off, leaving a massive twitching corpse behind.

As the other one turned to face him, Logan unconsciously pumped the bottom housing to his gun, and pulled the trigger. He didn't even know if his grenade launcher was loaded or even functioning, but he was too focused to think on it or even care. He just pumped and fired.

Turns out though, it _was_ loaded, and the grenade shell blasted right into the chest of the alien, blowing pieces of it every which way and knocking it back. It also seemed to have damaged its spine-firing ability, as when it regained its stance, it came in quickly, scythes raised, unaware or uncaring that it was injured. Logan lifted the muzzle of the gun up, and began to blast a cluster of bullets into its face. It fell soon after.

The tide of battle was shifting again; the marine corps was retaking control, the smaller creatures in the base had been beaten, and now a few clusters of militia soldiers were milling about, hastily glancing to and fro, searching for new enemies. What they should have done was once seeing the interior of the base was secure, they should move to stabilize the outer fortifications.

Logan didn't even acknowledge their fear or lack of direction; nor did he have time to direct them. He turned and went stampeding towards the front line, bellowing like a banshee, firing as he ran. Some others fell in behind him, seeing his unconcerned and stalwart charge to battle, and this diminutive force collided with the remaining aliens, and the war-torn defenders.

Logan almost mindlessly flew past his comrades, rushing right into the fray. He could hear them calling, but he paid them no heed. He could only hear the rushing of his own blood and his voice, as it babbled out obscenities like raindrop, as incoherent as a demon-possessed victim.

His gun was like a bolt of lightning, striking with fury at anything that dared cross his path, shredding one small creature and then another and another, puncturing them full of holes as he pressed onward. Despite their numbers having dwindled dramatically, the invaders still did not flee. Rather, they converged together into a single unit, and gave one final charge. It wouldn't have fared well for Logan, who was almost solely out front, but luckily, another garrison, including his colleagues rushed out to create a sturdy unyielding line with him.

The two remaining big bugs led the attack, but the firepower was too concentrated, the first being blasted by the relentless barrage of bullets, pieces of its body getting torn off. The other got off one single shot, clipping another marine in the arm, before three separate grenades blasted it into nothingness. The smaller ones charged, but were annihilated before they got too close. As the last sounds of gunfire and explosions faded, all was quiet save the still squawking alarm. The air was laden with smoke and heavy with the scent of gunpowder, blood, and charred flesh.

Logan stood there, panting for air, eyes bulging, fingers like steel rings wrapped around the handle of his gun, the reinforced stock buckling under the pressure. His vision was hazy again, and his whole body felt heavy, tingling with a burning heat and an unrelenting chill simultaneously. Around him in the aftermath of the battle, the wounded living were limping towards the nearest infirmary station, the uninjured checking for survivors and already getting repairs underway.

Logan couldn't have cared less, being in a spaced out blur. And it wasn't until he heard the nearby crunching of gravel that he started to come around. He looked over his shoulder, as best as he could anyhow, and saw Marcus and the others, each one giving him a rather funny look. Finally, someone whistled.

"Holy fuckin' shit newb," said a near gaping Colt, looking the bloodstained Logan up and down, "Where the fuck did _that_ come from? You were shakin' in your boots earlier, and now…Christ, you were like a fuckin' man possessed!"

"Fuckin' A!" Gunner half-agreed, half-congratulated, "It's been a long time since I've seen a man go apeshit like that! Hah ha, hell that takes me back. You got some serious balls rook. You looked like the devil himself out there. That ought ta send those alien fuckers through one big ass loop huh?"

"Thanks…I guess…" Logan didn't sound too impressed with himself. The truth is, he was still asking himself if that wild, near barbarous frenzy had actually been him. He knew he could be a mean son of a bitch, but to be that fucked-up…He never knew he had it in him.

"Hey, you alright?" Quentin asked, "You look kinda pale…"

"Alright, alright, back up everyone, give the guy some breathin' room," Marcus took his shoulder, giving him a nudge. "You okay Stone?" Logan nodded, slowly coming back to his usual self. The aftermath of this battle, he was feeling quite a bit better than the last time. Since this time he was practically a hero. A few other survivors were gathered around them, waiting to congratulate his furious counterattack.

"Yeah," he answered more resolutely, "I'm good. Just…lost my handle for a minute there."

"Well boy," Daemon told him with a wild grin, "I think you need ta loose yer handle more often. You keep that up; we'll have ta name you Blood & Guts. Shit, makin' us veterans look bad."

"I hope y'all were watching," Marcus addressed the crowd behind him, "Next time those bastards come back, I'd better see each one of ya fightin' just like Stone here, else I'll shove my huge metal foot up yer asses. Now quit gawkin', and get back to fixin' this place. Those things ain't gonna wait around for us to get back into tip-top shape. Move!" The gathering dispersed, and went back to repairs. Logan took some time to breathe, before heading back to the defense line, to aid in its reconstruction.

They had barely gotten underway, when a whole company of soldiers came rushing out of the entrance, geared up and ready to fight. With a roar of an engine, Raynor pulled up next to the six of them, once more straddling his bike.

"Alright," Jim said aloud, "I've had enough of this shit. Time to take the fight to their side. Come on boys, we're goin' to Backwater, and we're gonna bring a big ass piece of hell with us." The men of Unit 507 glanced at one another, shrugged, and hopped into the back of a nearby jeep, calling a few more straggling marines to follow.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Daemon whooped, "Let's do it, I'm jacked up and good to go! An' with crazy Stone here, we'll kick their ugly asses back to whatever hole they creeped out of!"

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_Units In Transit…Please Stand By…_

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_Video Feed Reestablished_

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It was a pretty fast trip. They marched across the wastelands, approaching the plateau that Backwater was stationed on. Jim had made simple reasoning, that the attack on their base was substantial, more than anything they had ever attempted in the past. In order to launch an offensive of that size, their primary base would have to have been emptied of all its forces, leaving it vulnerable. Meaning, it was now or never.

They found a dirt trail leading up, a narrow path that would bring them straight into Backwater. Everyone was on high alert, knowing that if they had been attacked that hard, then Backwater might very well not be there anymore. They certainly hoped not. When they reached the top of the trail, they quite literally stepped on a nasty surprise.

One of the lead marines yelled out, and Raynor and Marcus came up. The whole area in front of them had something across the ground, like a huge carpet. It was a light violet, with a soft squishiness feel to it, like a sponge, making nasty squelching sounds. If you stayed still, you could feel it quivering, almost pulsating. It was even making gross sounds, barely audible, like the sounds from inside of a living thing.

"What is _that_," Raynor asked as he examined it, staring closely, "Looks like the ground here is alive…" Marcus prodded the ground under his own feet.

"I ain't never seen nothin' like this, I can tell ya that…It's like livin' tissues growin' outta the ground."

"Eww," Quentin held his nose, "Well, I'll willin' to bet a shiny new nickel that this belongs to those asswipe critters. Smells just as bad as them."

They were about to move on, with even more caution, when Raynor stopped them.

"One piece of advice," Raynor told them as he was climbing on his hog, "These critters like to rush ya quick, so don't be shy about converging your firepower. You need to drop 'em fast and hard. Don't worry about ammunition. We got several supply trucks that'll be followin' us. Shoot like there's no tomorrow boys."

Further on, behind a large outcropping of rock, there were some aliens, the miniature variety, a little band of them. They were milling about a structure that seemed to be one of their own. With no hesitation, the marine force advanced, quickly getting noticed and sparking an attack, but the alien bugs soon fell. That left them to examine the building in closer detail. It looked to be made from flesh itself, much like the carpet thing earlier.

It was pulsating, and when one of the men took a shot at it, it started to bleed. Not only that, but the purple ground seemed to be coming from the structure in question. With the help of Gunner's flame-thrower and a several precise rounds of bullets, the building exploded in a shower of bloody flesh. As suspected, with it gone the living ground beneath their feet began to decay also, and started to shrivel away.

As it crumbled to the ground, they caught sight of Backwater. It was barren, empty, and void of activity, but it was still standing. On the outskirts of the camp was a bunker, charred and dented, covered with splashes of dried blood like a slipshod paint job.

"Hey in there," Raynor shouted out, "Anybody home?" His voice faded away on the air, and for a moment it looked like there wasn't anyone home. But with a grinding of the iron plated door, several figures came shambling out. Two marines, a firebat, and an SCV. They all looked pretty tired and glad to be out of that stinking crawlspace.

"Thanks for the rescue," the crew member in the SCV unit thanked, crawling out of his enhanced mechanical suit, "We've been holed up in these bunkers for days, hiding from the Zerg."

"What the hell did you say?" Marcus asked, "What the fuck are Zerg?"

"Those," the somewhat shaken civilian pointed to a partially rotting dead carcasses of one of the little bug aliens, lying close to them, "are Zerg." There was a brief exchange of glances among the new arrivals. Gunner leaned forward.

"Where'd ya come up with _that_ name?"

"Well…uh, it was in a transmission our station intercepted…A Confederate transmission."

"So what?" Raynor pressed, "You're telling me that the Confederates knew about these things the whole damn time?"

"Seems that way…"

"Isn't that typical," this news now flaring Logan's own inner hatreds towards the pack of lying bastards, "Keeping crap like this to themselves, not warning everyone about this threat, leaving the innocent people to get slaughtered. Those sons of bitches…"

"Yeah, but it ain't new news, they've been pullin' crap like this for years. Anyway, it don't matter. Right now, they aren't the ones to be worryin' about. First things first, we gotta secure this area by wiping these Zerg off the planet."

"Good luck with that," the SCV pilot told them, stretching his sore muscles, "I haven't seen how many there are, but with the numbers they hit with us with, there's sure to be number of the things. And we're not sure exactly where the Zerg are comin' from, but we think they're slinkin' out of that shallow ravine to the east. Probably the best place to start."

"Alright. You three," Raynor pointed to the military soldiers, "You're with us. Are there any more troops around here to back us up?" The firebat was grabbing a much-craved cigarette from Colt, but he tossed a haphazard thumb over his shoulder.

"There's probably some guys over on the eastern perimeter, if they're still alive. The barracks was located over there too; case you need any more firepower. I'd say we'll need everything we can get."

"Damn right," Gunner concurred. After giving the station a thorough sweep to rout out any hidden baddies, they rejoined at the eastern defense line, which was still standing, where seven more marines and four more firebats were able-bodied to head into combat, plus three more marines were suiting up.

With the enhanced force, Raynor and the rest headed east, following the twisting path south. There they crossed paths with even more Zerg, the small variety, again guarding another of the flesh-made buildings, which in turn was generating the pulsating living floor. A stout line of suppression fire wiped them out, and blew the building to pieces. Moving on, they found another rather untrodden path leading straight into the minute canyon. As they made there way down, more Zerg came to greet them, the smaller fierce ones, and several of the bigger spine shooters.

Not to be taken by surprised, the firebats moved off to one side, to lure in the close range attackers and fry them with their flame-throwers, while the marines engaged the long range Zerg at a healthy distance, Raynor's bike mounted grenade launcher wreaking havoc on their numbers.

Scouring the depths of the crevasse yielded only a few pockets of Zerg, easily dealt with their superior numbers. The only visible route out was up the adjacent wall, on another almost hidden path. They didn't ascend, as their sensors were detecting massive lifesigns up above. That and a familiar smell was wafting under their noses.

"I doubt that they don't care none that we've gotten this far," Raynor surmised, "I'd be willin' to bet there's an ambush up there waiting for us."

"Damn them if they do," Daemon shouted, before turning his head towards the higher cliffs and bellowed, "Bring 'em on I say! Come on out you ugly sons of bitches, ol' Blood & Guts is waitin' ta shred your asses!"

"Will you shut yer hole, you fucked up psycho," Marcus hissed, "The Marshal's probably right an' they're just hopin' we'll come in guns ablazin' with no sense. We ain't just chargin' up there 'cause _I_ don't feel like obligin' these things."

"So what do you think?" Raynor asked, glancing Marcus's way. He was currently brooding on the course of action.

"They might got it in their head to ambush us," Logan said suddenly, staring up the stone walls, smelling the stench of the Zerg in the air. He looked around at everyone, his face asking a question. "Right?" Everyone glanced about, and nodded in agreement. "So…why not ambush them instead?"

"Hmm," Marcus thought, "Not a bad plan rook. Al'ight, here's what we're gonna do. First, I need a couple of crazy idiots." Gunner and Daemon raised their hands instantly, almost if they had an instinctive response to such a request.

"Yeah, I figured you two would step forward. Well, you two are gonna go rushin' up the hill, shootin' and yellin' yer crazy-ass heads off. If they take the bait an' come after ya, you turn, and haul ass back down the mountain. Meanwhile, we'll have our flame-throwers on either side of the narrow base of the path, and a whole line of marines dead in front of 'em. Marshal, yer bike's grenade launcher deals some big ass hurt to 'em, so you'll be in tha thick of things. I'm hopin' a mess of 'em will come runnin' after Gunner and Daemon, right into our trap. Let's hope these suckers ain't too smart."

The two soldiers clomped up the hill, about halfway making a god-awful racket, yelling out dirty words and firing a few random shots. Like an instant tidal wave, Zerg appeared at the lip of the overhead canyon, and came pouring down the side, hissing and screeching, and making an uproar of their own. The two came tearing back down, a few steps ahead of the rush, and everyone started to fire. With easily three dozen marines and unit of firebats, there wasn't much chance for the Zerg, getting fried and blasted into little tiny pieces in the ambush. Wasting no words, all the men went crashing back up the hill, once again screaming and exploded onto the battlefield. The Zerg's number had been diminished, but several remained, with more flesh-buildings.

In an adamant wave of their own, the marine force drove them back, only one man getting killed by flying spikes, and three others got lightly maimed by close range claws. Other than that, amidst the din there were numerous angry yells, along the lines of "Eat this, you ugly Zerg bastards!" and "I'm gonna shit on your corpse," among many others. But soon, the Zerg were all destroyed and quick work was made of the buildings and their creepy purple rug.

As the last of the unsettling alien buildings were piles of blooded flesh, Marcus ordered all men to sweep the plateau and see if anything was left. No Zerg were around, but there was one final upsetting and unnerving discovery. Further back from the Zerg's position was a Terran Command Center, covered with brush, almost buried in vines. But even worse, was it was also covered with pulsating veins across the reinforced walls, slipping inside the hardened structure, with a beating mass on top, almost like a enormous heart. It even sounded if the building itself was breathing.

"Holy shit," Marcus gaped, "What the hell did they do to this command center?" Raynor stepped off his bike, and approached. He studied some of the veins and ran his gloved hand across the walls, coming away with a film-like mucus. He wiped it off.

"Whatever it is, it ain't natural," he turned back to the troops, and tossed his head, "Burn it boys." With a satisfied yell, the firebats rushed in, and put the building to the torch, whilst the marines encircled it, blasting grenade shells through the hardened steel armor.

In the midst of this razing, no one noticed that several shadows were descending on the area, and the roar of starship engines was drowned out by the firing. As the former headquarters exploded, sending shrapnel and shards of metal flying, all seemed well. The rescue forces from Backwater knew they had done their job. At least until their in-suit communicators began to beep, and they finally noticed there were quite a number of white-suited marine troops all around them. Everyone opened com-links, and got a direct message, no doubt originating from the gargantuan battleship hovering in the sky.

The heavy gruff voice of General Duke sounded in everyone's ears, not sounding too pleased.

"Marshal Raynor, by destroying a vital Confederate installation, you and your men have violated standard colonial law. As of right now you're all under arrest. I suggest you throw down your weapons and come peaceably."

Upon closer inspection, the white-suited reinforcements were not cheering and spilling congratulations. Rather, they looked grim and unfriendly, their weapons pointed to the ragtag group of soldiers.

"Arrested," Colt shouted, looking around, "We just toasted who knows how many Zerg, an' we're bein' _arrested_? What kinda shit is that?" Raynor too didn't look delighted himself, grabbing a radio mounted to his bike.

"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled back to Duke, "If we hadn't burned that damn factory, then this entire colony might have been overrun! Maybe if you hadn't taken your sweet time in getting here…" He got no further, when Duke rudely interrupted.

"Now I asked you nice the first time boy. I didn't come here to talk with you…Now throw down them weapons."

The surrounding unit, undoubtedly the infamous Blood Hawks were slowly closing in, some of whom were cocking their weapons, expecting these men to retaliate. The Mar Sara force knew they couldn't win; they were outgunned in every conceivable category, not to mention that it was about five hundred to one odds.

With no choice, Raynor looked over at Marcus, and gave a lowering gesture.

Marcus nodded, and with a grumbling sigh, he ordered to his men, "Put 'em down. No sense in gettin' killed here." There was a moment of quiet, but everyone knew that it was no use arguing. Everyone dropped their guns, and raised their hands over their heads.

Raynor glanced up at the Battlecruiser overhead, and with a grunt, before putting his own hands up, said into the radio, "Guess you wouldn't be a Confederate if you weren't a complete pain in the ass."


	7. The Revolution

**Chapter 7:** The Revolution

"Well," Logan commented, leaning back against the wall, "Isn't this cute? Right back where I started…"

He of course was referring to the fact that currently he, Marcus and the other five members of Unit 507, along with more than a handful militia men from Mar Sara, were sitting in a dungy dank prison cell, aboard an prison ship orbiting the planet. Courtesy of General Duke, after he had their force arrested when they had taken it upon themselves to obliterate an outdated command center that had been transformed into an infested Zerg mound.

Quickly stripped of both weapons and armor, a rather unpleasant process to pull the neural uplink cables out of the skin, and were scattered about across a small array of ships. Logan sat with the other five members of Unit 507, and many of the colonial militia. Several would come and go, for processing and perhaps interrogation. Raynor was nowhere to be seen. And as typical of being incarcerated, the time in the stir goes by with an almost malicious slowness.

"I still don't get this shit!" Daemon hollered from his cramped corner, rising up in his frustration for the seventh time, "We were only doin' what the dicks upstairs told us ta do, so why the hell are they throwin' us in this shithole for?"

"Cause we were told ta sit tight, and not get involved," Marcus answered simply, staying cool for his men's sake, "We were told ta leave Backwater to Duke and his boys. Instead, we decided to play hero and save'em ourselves. And I guess they don't look too kindly on blowin' up their command centers."

"But we probably just saved everyone's butts by blastin' that thing into dust!" Marcus shrugged.

"I guess they don't see it that way. An' right now, there ain't nuthin' we can do about it. So just sit down and shut up." Indeed, all of them seemed pretty gloomy.

Logan stayed quiet, more than likely being the most experienced of the group to calmly pass time in a cell. He had too much to think or worry about at the moment to be stir crazy. For example, so far he was one of the fortunate ones not to be called for interrogation. Perhaps it was because he was still a rookie, and thus wouldn't be privy to useful information. Marcus was called, as was Daemon and a few other militia men who seemed more hardened and tougher than the rest.

Logan didn't delight in the idea of being questioned, for the simple fact that he didn't want his dirty little secret to get out, that he wasn't one of the Confederate's good little boys, doing what he was told. If they figured out his lack of Resoc, he might be in store for a little detour to the nearest Head-Messing Clinic. He was nervous about this, but luckily he wasn't fixating too deeply on being found out, as his mind was occupied elsewhere with another interesting thought.

As he sat in that clammy prison, ignoring the constant wave of grunting and cursing around him, his mind had gone into instant replay, going back to the events on Mar Sara. And his first and yet unrelished encounter with the strange organisms called Zerg. An alien lifeform…

In many ways, truly a historical moment for humanity. He knew that in the years previous, humans had always thought of the possibility of life amid the stars, other races, other ways of life amongst strange and wondrous creatures. Such epic meetings had been imagined and speculated for centuries, but it had never happened. But now, it was clear that humans were indeed not alone in the universe.

As a mater of fact, Logan was still somewhat awed by the fact that he; a simple normal guy had bore witness to meeting one theses beings, having a genuine close encounter. The down side of this was in said encounter he was forced to blow these alien's heads off and keep them from slaughtering the people around him.

And in addition to the Zerg, the other mysterious aliens that blew Chau Sara…what were they called again? Logan couldn't seem to recall, but then, he didn't really care. This other species of alien's also seemed to have a less than friendly disposition towards humanity. Chances were he would be doing as much ass-kicking against them in the future. Unless his career in the military business was to be cut short.

"Ah, I can't take this," Gunner grumbled, his foot rocking back and forth on the steel floor, "Just sittin' here is drivin' me up the wall…When are we gonna get outta here?"

"Will you assholes put a sock in it?" came another voice, harsh and irritated. Its tone caused Logan to start, and he scanned around. Both the men from Unit 507 as well as some of the Mar Sara militia were in a large cell, holding easily two dozen individuals comfortably. Logan hadn't been too focused on any of the other captives, the ones that had joined in on their Zerg stomping.

But now that he looked closer, he saw several things that surprised him. The one who had told Gunner to shut it was actually a woman. She was by herself in another corner, leaning against the wall in a set of basic military fatigues, having the air about her that she really wanted to take a few drags on a cigarette.

She was actually quite out of place amongst all the huge strapping meatbags that comprised of much of the male population. She wasn't nearly as tall as the lot of them, and perhaps half their weight. But she wasn't petite, no sir, her pale arms were skinny but you'd have to be blind to miss the sinewy muscle bunched their. Her legs looked accustom to marching and running, and her body, though still quite appealing with gentle sloping curves, was also well-toned and borderline of being categorized as buff.

"Shouting and moaning aren't gonna do a fucking thing but piss everyone else in here off, so shove it, lest I rip off your nuts and give you something to really cry about! We don't need you pointing out every five minutes that we're stuck in here, dipshit." Her voice was surprising delicate but her tone callous. Her voice clearly matched her less than manly appearance, more like that of a sweet girl you'd meet selling coffee and doughnuts. But her speech, both intensity and vocabulary choice certainly showed that she had a mean streak that could perhaps put many self-proclaimed hard-asses to shame.

Logan was shocked indeed to see a woman in the same cell with them, and even more shocked to see that most of the soldiers…well actually all of the soldiers, weren't paying her the slightest bit of attention. It would have undeniably been easy for the lot of them, should the mood strike them, to seize her in this simple cell and happily take turns with her, but it would seem they weren't in the mood. Logan nudged Marcus next to him, gesturing towards the female soldier.

"Who's that?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice down. Marcus glanced over at her, and answered with a shrug.

"I dunno. She was with Green 2 militia unit I think. Why?"

"The one that came with us?" Marcus nodded. "She was one of the ones that was fighting the Zerg with us?"

"Sure was," Daemon ducked into the conversation, casting a watchful eye over at her, "A sweet piece of ass haulin' a gun and blastin' aliens…Ain't nuthin' as fine as that."

"And it's normal for the military to use women out here on the fringe world when they're running out of volunteers?"

"Who said it was just out here?" Marcus asked him with a grin, "I'd be willin' ta bet my hat that a good portion of the yahoos protecting Tarsonis were women too. They're all over the place."

"Ya ain't got no hat," Gunner chuckled from the corner.

"You mean," Logan asked around, looking dumbfounded somewhat, "That a lot of these marines in the Confederacy are women?" He had been whispering but his voiced rose as he said this. She must have heard him, and his question must have struck a sensitive nerve.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean kiss-ass?" she growled at him, her dark almond eyes narrowing at him with a furious intensity, "You think only you big strong men are allowed to go out and fight? I'm not tough enough to serve in the militia? You got a problem with me dickweed?"

"None," Logan answered swiftly. This woman looked and sounded more of a marine that he was, and while he was tough, he didn't want to run the risk of getting his ass kicked by a chick. His previous status for annihilating Zerg would lose all creditability.

She grunted, a very unladylike sound, and went back to staring into a corner. As the silence fell once again, Logan found his gaze drawn to that corner time and time again.

And not just because she was pretty…Well, that was an understatement. She was beautiful; her hair was a deep raven with a few slight traces of copper mixed in, her auburn eyes light but serious, and a somewhat mismatched amount of tan on her skin, her arms were pale, but her face was not. And Logan wasn't just calling her beautiful because he had been in prison over three years. She was a sweet delicate looking woman with more than enough attitude radiating off her to beat the shit out of any who dismissed her with the usual niceties.

Over the course of the next few hours, everyone got up and moved around, trying to stretch their legs. Sitting in one place for so long is irritating, therefore, just about everyone at some point got up and moved around the cell, though it wasn't as though they had a large supply of leisurely walking space. And though he tried not to make it obvious, eventually Logan was sitting fairly close to her, trying not to look. He must not have been doing too good of a job.

"Do you need something?" he heard her ask. He looked over, and saw she was directing a rather irritable glare his way, arms crossed. He shrugged in response answering with, "Not a thing." Her eyes narrowed.

"Well I think that's bullshit. You think you're being clever but I've been watching you watching me…You still got a problem with me being a woman? Or is it something else this time?" Logan, not really wanting to get branded as a sexist, tried to calmly explain.

"No…it…well, it just surprised me I guess. I'm not really military savvy and privy to that sort of stuff. Besides, no offence, you don't really look like…well, you know, the sort to be doing this kind of thing."

"Well I could say the same thing about you, pretty boy," she countered levelly, "And like they say, don't judge by appearances. I'm a lot nastier than you think."

"I don't doubt you…" he trailed off, and said no more. The woman however, was the one looking at him now, squinting as she examined his face. He ignored it for a moment, then turned to meet her gaze. "See something you like?" he inquired lightly.

"Please," she gave a snort. She looked him over, and finally, a light of understanding dawned.

"You're the guy aren't you?" she concluded, "That guy who went totally bugshit against the Zerg at the outpost." It would seem his reputation was getting around. He gave a grin, extending his hand.

"Logan Stone. Private Logan Stone…I guess." She tentatively took his hand, yielding a misleadingly strong grip, and nodded back. It was clear she was trying to keep herself from smiling.

"Private First Class Elisa Barnes." It would have been nice to perhaps spark up a meaningful conversation that wasn't laced with testosterone, but Logan got the feeling that she wasn't in a chatty mood. Besides, for the time being, he felt much better just sitting next to her. Seeing her pretty face made the grimness of the situation seem less severe.

--

--

--

The line between minutes, hours, perhaps even days were hazed together, no longer separate or recognizable. No one even tried to calculate the time that had passed thus far, and even the whining slowly diminished as everyone realized they weren't going to simply be let out. They had best resign themselves for a long stay. Which was growing longer by the minute. And as if the slow crawl of time wasn't enough to make someone upset, many other things also made their stay aboard the prison ship even more unsavory.

Unlike typical prison where the inmates are herded towards a cafeteria en mass for meals, the ones in charge thought it would be fun to pit prisoners against each other for food, throwing in a small amount and watching, as the hungry prisoners would fight one another for the biggest share. As expected, several busting out in angry shoving and cursing, upgrading into a full fledged fist fight, causing a horrible ruckus.

Marcus rose to the occasion once again however, proving that he wasn't second in command for nothing, broke up the fighting, and carefully dispensed the food, ensuring no one got a larger share than anyone else. He made it clear that he had no intension of obliging the assholes responsible for such sick games, by fighting like an animal for his dinner. Others nodded in agreement, even though they had done just that.

Also, occasionally a couple of guards would come by and hassle the lot of them with taunts and sneers, not to mention making hooting calls and ungentlemanly comments towards Elisa, the only female in the cell. For some reason they also seemed drawn to Logan, calling him fag or pretty boy, or other names implying that he was a sissy. Logan didn't choose to respond to this, didn't even acknowledge their taunting. At least, not until they had turned their attention to their own self-absorbed conversations.

As they were making snide remarks about one of their bosses, Logan muttered something aloud in their general direction, something rather not nice and unflattering. His voice was quiet but not hushed, and one of the meatheads must have heard a bit of this. Evident in the way his previous smug grin slipped away, and his eyes grew stormy. He advanced towards the partition between them and the prisoners, and he unshouldered his weapon.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" he snarled, glaring ice at Logan. Logan put on his most innocent expression and shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing. Why, did you hear something?" The guard snorted

"Yeah, that's what I thought." As he turned to leave, he could barely make out the two whispered words, "Mamma's Boy."

"You piece of shit!" he roared, and looked ready to lunge through the forcefield serving as the divider, but his two colleagues grabbed his arms, grunting with laughter. "Come on Mel, don't let'em get under ya skin. Little prick is tryin' ta piss ya off. Come on, let's go get a drink…"

Logan watched them go, giving the enraged marine a little wave. "Bye Mel," he called sweetly, prompting another furious garble of unintelligible words.

"Better watch it rook," one of the more veteran-looking militia men warned, "Ya don't wanna make 'em mad, else they'll make life in here much more unpleasant." Logan had been in prison for more than three years, and after such hell, he knew there was hardly anything these piss-ass uptight airheads could do to make him suffer.

"Hey, you done good by me," Quentin told him, another one who had been trained in proper prison survival protocol, "They need ta know right off tha bat that their tauntin' can't rattle ya." Some of the others were nodding. "Ya just got ta know when it's the right time ta mess with'em."

"And how do know when it's the right time?" one other guy asked, a rookie by the looks.

"With years of practice boys," Logan told him grinning, leaning back against the wall. Making a dirtball angry worked wonders with calming a man's spirit, and despite the bleak situation, Logan felt alright. But it wasn't long until that small slice of enjoyment faded, as things wore ever ever on.

Some of the boys were spark up a quiet conversation, but no one said too much in them, as topics usually involved places and things that weren't in prison, as they were. Therefore, it would only serve to make them go crazy. Thus quiet was the primary sound around them, leaving them mired in almost complete stillness for hour after hour.

So it was a great shock to everyone when a silence-shattering boom crashed into existence around them, feeling the floors, walls, and themselves shutter because of it, the echo resonating all around them. Furthermore, the whole room itself shifted, lurched to one side, sending some of the marines tumbling.

"What the fuck was that?" one of the soldiers called out. Everyone got their feet, already knowing the answer, even Logan who was perhaps the least experienced on the field of battle. It had been an explosion, and it had been close enough to rock the whole damn ship. Before long, another blast echoed throughout the cell, followed by the unmistakable sounds of gunshots. Muted yelling was heard, as an unseen battle was obviously raging somewhere close by.

Suddenly, several white suited marines, five all told, busted into the prison area, sealing the paristeel door behind them. They were breathing hard and shouting, each others yelling's drowned out the rest. The air was thick with curses. It was clear that the ship was under attack, but from who? The Zerg? No…they were organic creatures, they couldn't get into space to attack an orbiting ship…could they?

Logan was able to pick up pieces of static filled radio transmissions, something like, "…broke free…" and "damn…rebels…" What that meant to him however, he couldn't have said.

"What's happenin'?" Gunner called out, but the guards didn't hear him, turning towards the door, raising their rifles. From the other end of the hallway, there was a blast, bathing the white suited marines in a brief flash of fiery illumination, the force knocking them and several prisoners off their feet. Smoke poured into the room, and over more yelling and gunshots, there were some yells, and heavy footfalls. As quickly as the smoke filled the room, it was being vent out, clearing the air.

Suddenly, Jim Raynor was standing on the other side of the forcefield with several other marines, these strangers wearing crimson blood armor. Jim was grinning at their disheveled appearances.

"Hey there. I was wondering what hole they stuck y'all in." One of the marines was tinkering with the controls, and with a groan and crack of energy, the forcefield vanished. "Come on boys," Raynor signaled, "This is a jailbreak."

"Hot damn and a slice of ham!" hooted Colt, jumping up double quick grinning ear to ear, "It's about damn time we got some action. Rise an' shine y'all, we gotta split!" Everyone rose quickly, not having to be told twice to get the lead out. They wanted out of that cramped smelly room but good.

"What's going on?" Logan couldn't help but ask Raynor as he and the whole lot of them ambled out of the cell, "We thought you got locked up too."

"Sure was, right around the corner from you guys. But it looks like the Confederates were even slimy then we thought. From the ways things are, they have evacuated all the people out of the cities into the wastelands, but they ain't got any intension of rescuing those folks by gettin' 'em off the planet. They're more interested in savin' their nasty selves and leavin' the colonists as Zerg chow."

This certainly didn't shock Logan any, knowing full well how the bigwigs work. Keep rebels down, oppress the people with rules, regulations, and taxes, and above all, they flawlessly practiced the art of self-preservation as if they were Zen masters on the subject.

"Those dirty bastards," he growled around his teeth, "Just wait until I wrap my hands around their necks…"

"Sentiments I share, especially cause they threw me into this place just for doin' my job. But imagine my surprise when a good friend of yours came aboard, busted me out, and says that they've made a deal to get everyone outta here…"

"Someone _we_ know?" Quentin inquired, "Who'd give a rat's ass about a handful of grunts like us?"

"Who do ya think?" came a familiar crotchety voice from out in the hallway, "Now quit yer lollygaggin' and get yer legs in gear! All that prison time makin' y'all soft? Move out!"

And out in the hallway, as tough-looking and ornery as every was the Sarge, Ray Bennett. The other members of Unit 507, all suited up were right behind him, holding the rear position.

"Hey Sarge!" Marcus greeted with a salute, "Nice of ya ta come see us. This a conjugal visit?"

"Har har, yer just as side-splittin' as ever boy. An' once we get outta here, remind me to kick yer sorry ass three times across the galaxy fer doin' such stupid shit when I ain't around an' getting' thrown in here. Shit, do I need ta get a babysitter next time? But that'll have ta wait. Come on boys, grab a gun and let's get off this tub. We're abandoning the planet an' we need ta do it now."

"The planet?" Logan asked dumbfounded, "You mean the whole planet's being evacuated?"

"That's right sissy boy. Them "Zerg" as they seem ta be called have gone from bad ta worse out there. An' the Confederates don't look like they're gonna be stickin' 'round much longer. I've never seen so many friggin' ships flyin' off a world. Most bein' sheltered by Duke, that son of a bitch, joinin' with Alpha Squadron. But like I said, shut ya noise hole with the questions, an' start fuckin' runnin', lest I shoot a handful of metal spikes up ya ass!"

There were numerous extra rifles lying around, taken from the few guards on hand, and soon Logan and the other most experienced soldiers were armed and dashing back down the corridors, following Bennett and his crew, back to the hangers. There were three dropships, all tinted red, pouring off steam and humming, just itching to get airborn again. Everyone split up, and rolled up the ramps, sealing them shut behind them.

"Alright, we're in," Bennett bawled into his radio, "Get these birds up and get us gone!" Not missing a beat, the APC lurched up, wheeled around, and went streaking out into space, the other two hot on its heels.

Despite his discomfort with radical flying, Logan was much to relieved to be out of the prison, and stupefied about what might be going on down below on the surface to feel sick to his stomach. He and the rest of 507 strapped in, as the dropships circled the planet.

Suddenly, Bennett was beside him, chewing on his cigar, and resting his gun over his shoulder.

"Marcus was tellin' me 'bout how ya went nuts in Backwater, bailin' everyone's asses out of tha fire…Not too bad Stone. I gotta say, I didn't think ya were the type. Maybe they're more ta you than just a spineless school girl after all."

"Gee, thanks for your confidence Sarge," Logan answered dryly, "But since we're out of the woods now, do you care to tell me what the hells happening?"

"Well, I guess so. Listen up you monkeys!" he had to raise his voice to be heard over the roaring engine, "Stone wants ta know what's goin' down, so get tha wax outta yer ears, 'cause I don't intend to repeat myself…"

Indeed, there was a lot to answer for, the soldiers of the Confederacy staging a rescue for Confederate criminals, abandoning the planet…Not to mention the origins of the mysterious red suited marines. But things got much clearer as he explained.

The Zerg had been steadily advancing across the surface of the planet, their numbers being too much for the local militia and few pockets of Confederate resistance to hold back, and it became clear that everyone was being herded by the Zerg, into a corner. And still, the Confederates, under General Duke did nothing to assist the colonists, even though they had promised to evacuate the locals off the planet.

Time was running out, and as the Zerg were bearing down on the helpless settlers, there was of course the growing unsettling possibility that the other mysterious aliens, the Protoss as they had been called, would show up again. As it was now a very distinct possibility in everyone's mind that the reason Chau Sara had been reduced to even less than a smoldering wasteland, may very well have been because of the insect-like Zerg had infested the planet. Meaning, the Protoss could possibly show up any time now, and do to Mar Sara what they did to Chau Sara.

Of course, if this was true, why hadn't the Confederates mentioned these Zerg during the destruction of Chau Sara? The answer? Obviously they didn't want anyone to know that it was something they couldn't handle, though whether it went deeper than that, it was hard to say.

So, as everything was teetering on the edge of possible annihilation, a certain someone had swooped in, approaching the Colonial Magistrate, the one responsible for Mar Sara and its militia forces, and offered to rescue the trapped colonists. This man was none other than the infamous terrorist and madman, Arcturus Mengsk. The leader of the rebel faction, The Sons of Korhal, and criminal number one on the Confederacy's most wanted list.

"That screwball?" Daemon barked, "Y'all are takin' help from that loon?"

"What fuckin' choice did we have, jackhole?" Bennett shot back, "Either take the help we were bein' offered, else we'd still be down there, waitin' for them Zerg to tear us ta shreds. Since it's my job ta protect the people from those nasty critters, an' since the Confederates weren't gonna do nuthin', I did what I had to. And if any of y'all want ta question my decision, then lets hear it!" He scanned the faces, but no one had any objections.

"I don't know much about that," Raynor confessed, "But hell, if he decided to rescue all those trapped people, then he's alright in my book. It's sure as shit more than the Confederates would ever do, that's for sure."

"Right," Bennett went on, "And all of the militia forces, and ourselves included seem ta be switchin' sides. For good or bad, that's just the way it is." Everyone glanced around, most of their expressions were unsure yes, but a long way from upset.

"Well, you won't hear me complaining," Logan said aloud to all, "I got no intension of doing a damn thing for the Confederacy for just what they did to me. And abandoning all those people? Shit, I'd join with this Mengsk if he were the devil himself, so long as I could finally squash the Confederacy to dust like they deserve." Bennett chuckled at that.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that Stone. Guess that means ya got a reason ta fight now huh? I knew ya'd find somethin'. Still, I can't say I expected this ta be it, but hell, ones just about as good as another."

"So…" Marcus cleared his throat, "What's the move Sarge?"

"Well, that really ain't up to us. We're still just the grunts, we'll let the higher ups sort this mess out. For right now, all of the rescued are meetin' up with Mengsk's fleet, to get suited up for combat. 'Sides, Mengsk wanted ta see his newest members. After all, this won't be the first time he's seen the Doom-Bringers. Y'all remember don'tcha fellas?" Several 507 boys nodded and snickered. Logan obviously didn't get the joke.

--

--

--

The fleet in question wasn't exactly expansive. For all purposes, quite small and unimposing. But a rebel faction was hardly well equipped, salvaging what they could, where they could. Nonetheless, there was a less than worn battlecruiser, several CF/A-17 Wraith stunt-fighters, and container vessels holding supplies and building materials.

Logan and the rest were brought on board the capital ship, aptly named the Hyperion. As the ships docked, they all disembarked, and the red suited marines led them through the corridors of the interior of the massive battleship, turning left here, going right there, and going up an elevator here. A vexing labyrinth to any who was unfamiliar with these flying behemoths inner workings, as Logan was.

They arrived at the bridge, with numerous rebel soldiers rushing around, sitting at their controls, and calling out status reports for this and that. There was more hardware on the bridge of the Hyperion than Logan had seen in his whole life, every sort of technical gadget and do-dad was hooked up; scanners, sensors, comm. units, so many that the whole room was humming softly and his skin was tingling.

Standing with his back to them by the large view screen was a man, decked out in rustic dusty clothes, two metal armor plates attached to the shoulders and a dark pair of combat boots, laced up nice and tight. At their entry, he turned to face them, and Logan didn't have to even guess that this was Arcturus Mengsk. He hadn't been in military channels previously, but even he had seen the wanted posters and broadcasts on U.N.N. which publicly denounced and ridiculed this man as a wanted terrorist.

He was a middle aged man, with a strong broad build, one who looked ready to get down and dirty. Hair that was dark gray with noticeable streaks of silver running through, his full beard included. Very noticeable was his solid gray eyes, being calm and intelligent, yet piercing; the sort that looks right through a man, to see if someone was lying or not.

The way he carried himself too…it spoke of authority; his stride had a distinct gentlemanly swagger to it, defining that he wasn't just some local thug, but a refined and dignified individual. And as he turned to face the crowd of soldiers stepping onto his command deck, not a one of them present couldn't say that they didn't feel the near overwhelming persuasiveness that was practically pouring off the man. The sort of persuasiveness that can charm a soldier into treason or fighting against the only real government in the whole sector.

"Well now," he seemed to muse, running his eyes over the lot of them, "More than I was expecting. Seems like the Confederates will lock up a whole platoon of their own soldiers just to keep things tidy. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Welcome to my outfit gentlemen." Bennett stepped out in front, saluting and kicking his feet together. Everyone behind him followed suit. "Sergeant Raymond Bennett of Unit 507, awaiting orders sir!" he practically bellowed.

"507?" Mengsk asked, raising an eyebrow, before he gave a knowing smile, "Ah yes. Braxis if I recall. You were the ones who attacked that mining colony of mine that was stationed there. Caused quite a stir of things. I'm certainly glad that you're working for us now."

"Not as glad as I am," Logan murmured, and though it was quiet, Arcturus glanced his way, a faint smile tugging at his calm expression.

"And it's also nice to see that not everyone here has such qualms about turning their back so readily on the Confederacy. I suppose any who has been a victim of their…unsavory methods would harbor deep resentment towards them. Not unlike our current situation for example."

"Yeah well," Daemon snorted, looking this freedom fighter up and down, "From all we heard, you're not quite so nice yaself, havin' ya own "unsavory methods" and all that." Mengsk looked at him and then gave a polished chuckle, not seeming the slightest bit offended about the obvious distrust from the lowliest of grunts.

"Yes, I suppose you have. And I'm fairly certain that all of you have heard all of the propaganda surrounding my group, but I'm hoping that you'll see past it. I can assure you that it is quite embellished from the real truth."

"With the exception of the blowin' people up part…" someone muttered in the group of soldiers. Mengsk's face grew serious and somber at that.

"I won't deny some of the things I've done," he stated bluntly, his tone as straight and level as his expression, "By the Confederates standpoint, I am indeed a terrorist, but only because I threaten their own self-serving agenda. And since they won't inherently advertise their own malicious and corrupt schemes, they spread their lies and misinformation, making us a much needed scapegoat. Making _us_ seem like the greater evil in the eyes of the people, turning their attention away from the vice going on within the inner workings of the Confederacy. And it is for that reason that I've made several sacrifices in order to stop them once and for all. Their own ruthless and cold-blooded tactics have left millions dead gentlemen…_Millions_ dead, just so they would remain in power as the dominant force in the sector. Can you honestly say that my actions are any worse than their's are?"

No one said anything. No one alive would have tried to stick up for the Confederacy. There was just no denying the appalling things they had done in the name of "peace" and "stability".

"In any case, I can understand if you all have some reservations about my motives, and I assure you I shall explain in full when we are not as pressed for time. However, we have matters to discuss now. In the past twenty-four hours, the Zerg have spread with startling progress, rampaging across the entire planet, and their presence is now undeniable any longer. The Confederates are abandoning the planet. And so are we. There is however, one thing I'd like to do before we leave. I'd like to send a small unit down to infiltrate the primary Confederate outpost on this planet, and recover whatever weapon designs or schematics that might be in the central computer system. With the chaos of the evacuation due to the Zerg, the team should have no problem getting into or out of the installation."

"I'm into it," Raynor agreed, "'Sides, it'll be a good way to start payin' ya back for helpin' all those people out of a jam."

"Count us in," Marcus added, but Bennett interjected at once, reaching out and smacking Marcus on the back of the head.

"Like hell ya are! I still got tha reprimand you boys for actin' so damn foolish while I'm not around. 'Sides, we can't loaf around for ya ta get suited up, we need to get movin' now lest them Zerg crawl all over the place. So y'all will be stayin' here while the rest of us go with tha marshal, an' dig up what we can. Hopefully we can in and out without too much trouble from the Confederates or them Zerg."

Despite some grumbling protests from the marines, now spoiling for a fight against the Confederates, they conceded to the higher command, and soon a shuttle with Raynor, Bennett, and a small military platoon launched from the inner workings of the Hyperion, and streaked down, back to the infested surface of Mar Sara.

And whilst they were down there, looking to find any sort of useful data they could collect from the Confederate installation, Logan, Marcus, and the rest of the Mar Sara militia were show around the Hyperion, informed about Arcturus and his history to those who were unaware, and given a brief synopsis on Sons of Korhal activity. They actually talked with the big man himself quite a bit, he freely answering questions about things he would like to accomplish, and discussing ideas for bringing down the hated Confederacy. That in itself was actually quite unusual.

Despite the man's obvious importance, being the feared leader of the most notorious rebel group in the sector, he didn't seem to have any problem with even a lowly soldier asking questions. Logan did mention this, to which Arcturus gave a sly smile.

"It helps more than you know, when the commanding officer speaks not only to his lieutenants and captains, but to the individual soldiers themselves and pays them mind, rather than merely passing the orders along. Gives them a higher sense of importance and makes them more eager to fight on their behalf." Logan twisted his head, giving Mengsk a perplexed but rueful look.

"You're actually admitting that you're just using us all? All those that follow you?" Mengsk shrugged.

"I certainly wouldn't dare to suggest otherwise, as no would believe it. Not all of the military personal are as…sharp as some, but make no mistake, they know their being used in way or another as a means to achieve the end. And it's something we all share it seems. We're all used, whether we like it or not to accomplish goals in life."

"You're talking about fate?"

"In a manner of speaking. It's an inescapable path yes, but rather than a straight road that must be tread; it's filled with enough detours to make the decision ours, to feel that we're not forced into choices that are not truly our own by some guiding force." Logan listened, and couldn't stifle a snigger.

"Spoken like a true politician. An answer without an answer." Mengsk oddly enough, returned the grin.

"In these days of uncertainty, there aren't many answers out there. So we have to make do with our own truths and resolutions. But I must admit, I can't recall anyone else of your…current military station who has ever before bothered to ask such thoughtful questions. It's unusual to see a clever educated man in the lowest bracket of the armed forces. So I am wondering at how _you_ did end up being inducted into one of the Confederacy's most combat capable groups?"

"Well, I have our mutual friends _of_ the Confederacy to thank for that. I used to work for them, kinda like you, and I was investigating something routine that was part of my job. And guess I got deeper into things than they must have liked, and they felt it was better if I stopped and disappeared. So, I was framed for murder and other bullshit, and sent to prison. And now I'm out, I'm here, and I'm pissed. As good a chance as any to make those goddamn slugs squirm."

"Ah yes, a depressing tale that I too am also quite acquainted with. And truthfully, I'm both sorry yet delighted to hear that. With such intensity to a goal such as that, you'll always have a place here." Logan gave a salute, trying to look proud and dignified.

"And I'm glad to be onboard sir. I wouldn't miss this train for the world."

Following his interesting conversation with Mengsk, Logan and the rest of the sprung militia were sent to the outfitting chambers to suit up and prep. Somehow, it seemed less painful and less stressful a process than his first experience, perhaps that Logan was feeling almost eager to strap on the crimson armor that was the official Sons of Korhal color.

Previously he had been a patsy of the oppressive government, used and cast aside, and there was nothing he could do. Even when he was all but shanghaied into service, the best he could manage was to hopefully slip away, and stay out of the Confederate's notice. But now, part of this ragtag rebellious force, with an obvious charismatic and calculating leader, he could finally strike back against those who had destroyed his life, and wreck some much deserved vengeance upon them.

His combat suit in place, Logan beat a new metal fist against his chest, and he felt…ready. Ready to take on the whole damn Confederacy himself, willing and able to finally make them pay for all the crimes they had ever committed.


	8. Antigan Assualt

**Chapter 8:** Antigan Assault

Jim and his crew returned quickly, having dashed into and out of the facility as if it had been a marathon race. And they had been successful in accessing the Confederate network, downloading secret files, as Mengsk had ordered. And none too soon. The Confederate forces had already abandoned the planet, and Mengsk was ordering his own fleet back when the Hyperion's sensors picked up several warp signatures of other vessels approaching. And with a brilliant flash, several dozen massive glittering warships arrived.

Logan and the reassembled 507, Mengsk and Raynor were all on the command deck of the battlecruiser when the report came in, and soon the broad view screen came to life, getting an image of the new unidentified vessels.

They shimmered in the light; their construction was streamlined and efficient, beautiful and deadly, artistic and menacing all at the same time. Their bodies were smooth and curved, a strange way for a ship to be built, with glittering gold color, adorned with silver symbols and glyphs. Each vessel radiated an inner cobalt radiance that emitted from them like blue fire mixed with lightning. Several of them were even larger and more massive than the mighty Behemoth battlecruisers, with an entourage of many smaller ships circling about them. The whole fleet glistened like stars, and everyone watching couldn't help but be fascinated and enthralled by the beautiful crafts

"The protoss," Mengsk sounded intrigued by these other new aliens, "So they've come back again. They must be here for the Zerg, just as they did at Chau Sara. And I think I know why they're here…" So did everyone else, and also, everyone was hoping that they were wrong. They weren't.

Double quick, the largest ships began to spread around the planet, which was starting to get more than slightly purplish discoloration on the surface, no doubt from the creeping mass that the Zerg seemed to generate. They encircled the planet, and suddenly, each of the greatest of ships began to glow, the intensity of the blue energy emerging from their hulls began to grow brighter and brighter, near blinding, and there was a humming around them, buzzing in everyone's ears.

"They're charging something," a crewman at the sensor controls reported, "A weapon I think…Some sort of particle beam…they're firing!" And yes, dozens of spears of crackling sapphire lightning burst from the protoss ships, and streaked down into the planets atmosphere. Even as they watched, there seemed to be a distortion around the firing weapons, the fabric of time and reality seemed to ripple at the awesome and terrible power.

And though it was unfelt in space, the attack impacted on the surface, and the effect was instant. The whole planet, the Zerg portions and the rocky surface itself was slowly turning black, with visible streaks of fire incinerating every trace of anything that had been there. And it went beyond scorched; the planet was turning into volcanic glass, a glossy marble black that dug deep into the crust of the planet, the whole outer shell of the world and several layers beneath it became superheated nothingness.

Even Mengsk, with his suave and composed attitude were stunned to silence, witnessing the absolute annihilation of the colony of Mar Sara. As the beams of energy tapered off, several other ships, large but not quite as colossal as the others, fired smaller more concentrated beams on any minute patches of the surface that had fallen through the cracks, missed by the doomsday annihilation beams of the gargantuan cruisers. They were slowly coloring the whole planet to black, completing their campaign obliteration.

"Holy mother of God," Colt gaped, watching the devastation. No one else said a peep; their voices were gone at the sight before them.

"Helmsman," Mengsk was the next to recover from the shock, "Send a message to all vessels to prepare to break away. The protoss may have only come to raze the planet, but I've no intension of being their next target. All ships prepare for warp, we're leaving." The man at the controls didn't move, didn't seem to hear, he only continued to stare out at the calculated and frightening extermination taking place. "Helmsman!" Mengsk barked sharply, which was enough to make everyone on the bridge jump, and blink their eyes, clearing the fog of uncertainty and fear. "Now."

"Yes sir!"

As the ship and its small entourage began turning away and powering up their hyperdrives, everyone still maintained the stillness, many men's faces were drained of color, and many of the on-duty crewman had rushed off to find a nearby sink or toilet to forcibly remove their breakfast. It came as no surprise when Mengsk again broke the silence, undoubtedly to try and boost the moral of his demoralized crew at witnessing such a tragedy.

"I can understand at what you're all feeling," he sympathized, "As I also have witnessed such a catastrophe before, watching my own home being destroyed down to the crust by a so-called higher power. And yet, even here, there still is an undeniable link between the two."

"What are you talking about?" Logan asked, not following Mengsk's meaning.

"_Who_ made it necessary for this to happen? _Who_ left the people down there to die? Who tampered with the Zerg, resulting with the planets destruction? The Confederacy has gone too far before, and now you all are witnesses to the tragedies that they can…"

"What kind of bullshit is that?" Gunner interrupted, trying to muster some anger through the shock, that the freedom fighter was acting like a politician even now, by using this horror to further his crusade against the Confederacy. "How in the hell is this the Confederacy's fault? The only ones ta blame here are those motherfuckin' aliens!"

"Really?" Mengsk steepled his fingers as he leaned forward in his chair, silent for a moment. Then, "Captain Raynor," as he turned towards Jim, eyeing the marshal with those unwavering gray eyes, "Would you please tell these men the same thing you told me earlier…About what else _besides_ the datadisks that you found in the _Confederate_ installation?"

"There was Zerg in there," Jim said quietly, his face almost unnervingly calm, his normally tan face now a dim white, as he kept staring out the now black view screen, "In holding pens. And we found logs that were sayin' that they had been there for quite a while. Months it seems like."

"And I wonder who it was who brought them there," Mengsk mused aloud, and it was obvious he was leaving that question for others to answer. The Confederates of course, they had them in there and were experimenting with the Zerg. It stood to reason that other Zerg would have come because of the tampering, and slowly infested the world. Or even worse, the possibility that the Confederacy had turned the Zerg loose against the unsuspecting colony for some unthinkable reason.

"Whatever the case may be," Arcturus picked up everyone's thoughts where they left off, "We know that yes, the protoss are responsible for the destruction of the colony. I'm not saying otherwise, but it may very well have been the Confederacy who had made that action necessary in the first place. I believe it is our job to find out the truth of what happened here, and make the Confederacy answer for what they've done. At Korhal, Chau Sara, and now Mar Sara." With the closing of the speech, everyone felt compelled to get off the bridge. Even the 507 boys, hardened as they were, seemed shaken.

"Shit," Johnny grumbled, "I think I need a drink."

--

--

--

No one objected to the drinks, everyone in the fleet needed a way to cope with what they had witnessed. It was a hard thing to see such utter genocide take place, millions wiped out in a manner of seconds. It's enough to take the wind out of anyone's sails. Mengsk remained on the bridge, which almost served as his home away from home. When he wasn't in his adorned quarters, he was staked out on the command deck, staring at star maps, discussing strategies, or just sitting in thought. He was certainly the sort of man who stared into space simply thinking deeply profound things that a man of his education and status would think of.

Everyone else merely hung around the ship, doing their own thing as they traveled at warp. It took some time for the tension to start to dissipate, the marines and crew finally feeling comfortable enough after a few on-edge hours to begin popping dirty jokes and to play some poker. Such distraction was welcoming, and even though no one really talked about it, most everyone in the new and improved Sons of Korhal had made up their minds without a single doubt.

Their course was set, they were to going to take out the Confederacy, or die trying. So, with Mar Sara gone and in smoldering ruins, they were heading back to the Antiga Prime colony, Mengsk's current hidden base of operations. As a notorious rebel outfit, he needed to stay mobile, and hanging in one location for too long generated rumors that the Confederacy would eventually investigate with a large military force. Perhaps the same sort of military force that had once leveled Korhal.

Logan hung around with the Unit 507 boys, mingling with the other marines of the Sons of Korhal, and managed to make some new acquaintances. T

heodor Masters, or Teddy as he was called, was a long-time rebel, being part of Mengsk's company since the beginning. He was a native to Korhal, and he had wanted to help liberate the planet back when Angus Mengsk was running the show. He was filled with plenty of dreams of a non-Confederacy galaxy, and most of his conversations were steered that way. He had been given the nickname Sheep Skin, and when Logan inquired as to why, Teddy showed off his head. His hair was an almost crystalline white, and it was short and fuzzy, just like a sheep pelt. It made him look rather strange.

Also there was Harvey Webber, a man who had been a Confederate soldier previously, having gone through the resocialization process to effectively change sides. Logan learned that Webber was what one might call a career criminal before his capture. A hired killer, he was fond of torturing his victims until they bled to death, not to mention chopping and smashing their bodies to make it harder to identify them. He was a man who had liked his job a little too much, and ended up killing a lot of his own clientele until they had to hire another seven killers to try and eliminate him, all of whom vanished mysteriously.

In the end, it was a military detachment that ended up bringing him down, and even with multiple gunshot wounds, he still lived. He was healed and resocialized and put back into the work force as a standard governmental paid killer. He was a big ugly bastard due to his numerous wounds, mangy and wild like an animal, one of his old injuries making his jaw line jut out and displaying his teeth all the time in a wide jagged grin, thus earning him the title Shark Bite.

They were all part of a somewhat renowned unit in Mengsk's private army, calling themselves the Troopers, which had a similar sort of reputation as 507, though not quite as distinguished with acts of primal barbarism and often time's borderline stupidity. Their leader of the unit was Lieutenant Fredric Beranger, a graying older fellow who looked as if he had seen a lot of action in his years. A tangled unloved beard, with pale shallow eyes, and he had this weird way of looking at someone; his eyes sort of bulged and kinda creeped you out. He loved to drink and flirt with anything that even resembled a woman, and was pretty easy going. But when the time came to get serious and get the job done, he was Mr. Fun-Stuff no longer and became an almost humorless dick.

507 and the Troopers got along fairly well, though Bennett and Beranger often seemed at odds with one another, casting an evil eye in the others direction, and on the rare occasion that they spoke, it was usually loud cussing. When Logan asked about a possible acquaintance with Beranger, Bennett threw him a withering glare until Logan dismissed the question and went about his business.

And actually, once integrated into the Sons of Korhal military, Sergeant Bennett had actually been offered a promotion, due to his own long-standing repute and his outstanding military service record. All the way up to a lieutenant colonel as a matter of fact. But he had merely growled and shook his head, waving the idea away.

"Hell no," he rejected, "I ain't no top-brass, I'm a down an' dirty soldier, an' I always will be. Sippin' port and all that paperwork shit sure as hell ain't my thing. Just give me a rifle, a bunch of bad guys ta shoot at, and mob of lowlife grunts ta yell and cuss at, an' I'll be smilin' till the dust settles."

Antiga Prime certainly came up on them fast, and even though many were still mentally reeling from the shock a few days later, everyone knew that there was a job to get done, and the time was upon them to roll out and kick some ass. Logan and his unit, along with the Troopers and many other marine divisions were suited up, and boarded a small detachment of dropships, headed for the surface. Before Unit 507's ship departed the Hyperion, there was a growl of a formidable engine, as Raynor came rolling up the loading ramp on his hard and heavy hog. He looked a hell of a lot better, having that easy grin on his face, getting into the mission ahead.

"We all here?" he asked looking around, "Alright then, lets get this party started!" And some party it was going to be, as the task before them was still going to pose a bit of a challenge.

The Confederacy was more than aware that many of its more fringe colony worlds were long since fed up with their policies, and had made certain to keep the areas properly and effectively patrolled, lest revolts disrupt their control. Their loyal and vigilant watchdog, General Duke had been aware of the unrest on Antiga Prime, so he had been dispatched there after the Mar Sara fiasco to keep the locals on a tight leash.

And with Duke and his Alpha Squadron holding the Antigan's by the balls, the colonists didn't have enough backbone to start a fight. Not without help at least. Mengsk was ready to lend them some aid in freeing themselves from the yoke of oppression, having the people join his own rebel faction afterwards, thus increasing his overall military strength.

It was a shame that Duke himself wasn't present at the primary colony, as it would have been an opportune moment to deal with the pompous asshole once and for all. Instead, he had left some of his representatives to keep things running. And all that needed to be done was to dispatch the head officials he had left in his stead at the prime base camp, and the Confederacy defense forces would panic, allowing time for a swift counterattack. But the trick was the officers in question were in the command center in the center of said base, under heavy guard, so one would need to find some way in past the loyal guard troops outside. A thorny problem, but again, Mengsk was way ahead of everyone.

Arcturus had many talented people in his employ; including a few special individuals that specialized in that sort of work. Mengsk's second in command, Lieutenant Sarah Kerrigan, a former Confederate Black Ops soldier, a Ghost, was going to take care of the officers. She still wore the standard Hostile Environment Suit with a built in cloaking field to avoid detection, and with that, she'd slink into the command center and take them out. Following, Raynor and the marines would come busting in the front door, lending a hand to the Antigan militia force.

Bennett and his boys were to escort Raynor to meet up with the Lieutenant, who was already down there, keeping an eye on things, and their group would slip through the Confederate outpost around the colony, and shake things up a bit. The Troopers were to go along as well, as command wanted the toughest motherfuckers they had to break the Confederacy's hold ASAP. And since 507 was used to doing missions without any sort of support, they were eager to take on the job. The Troopers were less exuberant but willing nonetheless.

Once again, the ride down to the surface was hardly smooth, and Logan stiffened inside his combat suit, willing himself to remain calm. He found it rather pathetic, that he had blindly charged hideous aliens with no fear only days earlier, and now he was shivering because of a simple plane ride. _I am such a wuss sometimes_, he said to himself. But wuss or no, it was over quickly, and as soon as they touched down, Raynor pulled his bike outside, and Logan and 507 piled out, yelling and whooping, ready to kick some ass. But unfortunately there was no ass to kick in the immediate vicinity. The mission was to start with subtly, so the dropships had landed them a ways out from their target to avoid detection, and they were also more than a short walk from the rendezvous point with Lieutenant Kerrigan.

So they were running, two full squads of infantry, along with Raynor on his bike, cruising across the planet. As Logan ran, he had to keep his mind focused on his sprinting, as he wasn't trained to keep on trucking at that intensity for long periods of time. The CMC-300 suit was doing a lot of the work, but after an hour of constant running, he began to feel the strain.

"Come on boy," Lieutenant Beranger suddenly yelled, running next to Logan, "Move your ass, you're runnin' slower than my dead grandma! If them Zerg were here, you'd be dog-food in ten seconds! Hustle damn you!" Logan maintained his pace, knowing that his suit was probably all that was keeping him going. Despite the in suit cooling system, he felt sweat pouring in his face, and he felt like he was about to keel over.

"Will ya stop ordenin' my boys around, ya old goat? Ya ain't in command here, so quit actin' like Mr. Big Stuff, and keep ya mind on ya own crew!" Looking over, Logan saw Bennett glaring ice at Beranger, who was glowering fire right back at Bennett. Beranger snorted.

"Fine, but you'd better keep him in line, lest he fucks this whole operation up." And off he went, veering over to rejoin his own squad.

"Thanks Sarge," Logan told him, to which Bennett gave him a grin.

"Yeah yeah, keep ya thanks pretty-boy, 'cause truthfully, you _do_ run like a little old lady. You'd better get the lead out, else I'll be kickin' ya ass myself." And he went hustling back up to the front of the pack. Logan redoubled his efforts, pushing himself harder and harder, but it only made him want to collapse more than anything else.

"You don't look so hot Stone." Logan managed to blink past the sweat in his face to see that his buddy Johnny had fallen back next to Logan, running alongside him. And along side Johnny was Chaz, the laughing idiot. "Shit, you sure got lucky," Johnny grinned at him, "You got both ballbusters yellin' at ya. You must be feeling mighty special right now." Chaz at once began to chuckle hard at that, the laughing having no effect on his running. Logan watched him having a hysterical fit inside his suit, and yet his steps never fell out of stride.

"How do you stand it?" Logan huffed to the amused veteran, "Keep going, on and on. I feel like I'm dying! Doesn't it ever get to you?"

"Naw," Chaz told him, "I'm used to it. Beside, I'll bet you're just tryin' too hard. Ya got ta let the suit do the work, you're just along for the ride. You're probably trying to run normally, with movin' your legs. Ya gotta relax, and let the suit do its thing. After a few marches like this, you'll be prancin' along feelin' light as a speck of dust." At the current moment, with the feeling his insides were going to liquefy in paste at his movements, Logan did not share his sense of optimism.

The only thing that kept him from quitting was him asking himself, _"How are you ever going to beat down the Confederacy, if you can't even run a bit?"_ With that question hovering in his mind, he grit his teeth against the misery in his legs and lungs and kept going, even though this marathon was slightly more than _a bit_. And on they went...and on…and on...Finally, even with his iron-clad determination, Logan felt like falling into the dirt right there, and telling everyone to leave him behind. He'd rather be buzzard chow than go any further.

"Okay hold up here!" Raynor called, his voice sounding through the communicators in everyone's suits. All the marines pulled up, spreading out, and keeping their eyes open. Logan doubled up, panting and wishing for a glass of water. _No, screw the glass…I want a fucking lake._

Jim dismounted his bike, and scratched his head, looking around. "This is the rendezvous point…I think…We're to meet up with the Lieutenant somewhere around here, then head on to the colony. Keep your eyes open for our contact boys." Everyone was doing just that, scanning the surrounding area, searching for some sign of the scouting agent. Logan was too busy catching his breath to concentrate too hard, or even particularly care.

With no warning, there was a gentle hum, and suddenly only a few feet to Logan's left, a slender figure in a teal HES materialized right out of nowhere. He registered it out of the corner of his eye, getting him to leapt backwards with a start. His stumbling movement prompted every other marine in the area to whirl, guns raised.

The figure was holding a standard C-10 canister rifle under one arm and with the other removed the mask obscuring the visage. Underneath was a woman, with glistening emerald eyes, wide cherry lips, and a narrow face. Trailing behind her was a waterfall of bright orange hair, cascading past her shoulders and down to her back. She was glaring at the marines and their rifles trained on her position.

"Hold your fire, you idiots," Kerrigan snapped at them all. Bennett squinted at her for a moment, then yelled at his troops, "Put'em down boys, you're makin' the Lieutenant antsy." They complied as Bennett gave her a salute, and after kicking Marcus in the shin, the rest of 507 followed suit. "Sergeant Bennett and 507 reporting ma'am!"

Kerrigan waved a hand. "At ease!" and walked past them, right up to Jim. She gave him a half-hearted salute of her own, before shouldering her own rifle.

"Captain Raynor, I've finished scouting out the area…" she paused, before her bright emerald eyes widened in mild hostile amusement, "You pig!" Raynor sort of jumped, staring back at her before lifting his hands in a mystified way.

"_What?_ I haven't even said anything to you yet!" She gave him an exasperated look, tilting her head as if to say, _I can read minds jackass_. Regardless of the look, she said it aloud anyway.

"Yeah, but you were _thinking_ it." It took Jim a moment to follow, then his face all but groaned at the realization, and he nodded, his expression being less than enthusiastic.

"Oh yeah…you're a _telepath_. Look, can we just get on with this?" She shrugged.

"Right…" With the awkward introductions complete, Kerrigan went into detail about the route she had scouted out to the base, which would minimize their chances of being spotted. While the officers were talking, the 507 boys were snickering and holding back their laughter, poking fun at Jim due to his faux pas. After the plan of action was formulated, Raynor and Kerrigan gave the orders to the two squad leaders, Bennett and Beranger, who in turn transmitted things to their respective soldiers.

With the plan laid out, Raynor remounted his bike, revving it up, and the whole company fell in behind him and the lieutenant, following their lead.

Arriving at the meet up point with Kerrigan meant that they were getting closer to their target, and they would be moving slower and more stealthily as the chances of detection rose higher and higher the closer they got. Logan certainly wasn't complaining, this meant that their pace was drastically reduced, allowing him ample time to recover his stamina. After a short brisk hike, the lieutenant called a halt.

"We're coming up to a checkpoint," Kerrigan informed the group, glancing at her in-suit mapping system. "There were a few troops and an air defense turret. God, I hate those damn things, they can even picked up cloaked units. You'll need to take it out if I'm going to slip past." Bennett scratched his jaw before nodding, saluted before loading his weapon and slapped Marcus on the helmet.

"Alrighty, we'll have us a look. Come on captain, we'll need your bike's gun. Stone!" Logan jumped, looking over at the Sergeant. "Since yer so tuckered out, you stay here and keep the Lieutenant company 'till we knock that tower offline. The rest of ya, move it!"

Logan rolled his eyes but nodded, as the majority of the marines, Bennett and Raynor went on ahead to deal with the detection threat. Only a handful of marines remained; most deliberately keeping their distance from the Lieutenant. There was a general mistrust in the Marine Corps. towards Ghost operatives and any who exhibited telepathic abilities.

Logan, being the oddball that he was, had found the concept of telepathy to be interesting, unlike most who were just plain weirded out by the phenomenon. Not that he had any sort of knack for it; he had been exposed to a test a while ago to determine if he had any latent psionic potential. It turns out he had about as much telepathic power as a common slug, so his _hopes_ of becoming a Confederacy Ghost was dashed after that. But regardless, he was one of the few who weren't put on edge by a mind reader.

Actually, Logan had a previous acquaintance with a telepath once before. He had been part of a mission that required him to leave Tarsonis for an inspection of a resource site. The guy had been a Ghost in training, tough and cold, but with just enough personality to keep him from being called a robot. Regardless, where Logan had to go, the telepath followed, and despite having someone breathing over his shoulder, they had gotten along. Not quite friends per say, but on level terms with one another. And Logan knew the strangeness of conversations in which the other party could and often does finish your sentences for you.

"Not often you find someone who doesn't mind telepaths," Kerrigan noted, eyeing the path where the marines had vanished.

"Hmm?" Logan looked around, glancing at her. She swiveled a green eye around.

"I said you aren't really bothered by mind-readers."

"Oh yeah…I guess its cause I'm used to it, as I…"

"Used to be friends with one before?" Kerrigan finished, prompting Logan to grin.

"Just like old times." Silence fell once again, as they merely waited for the alls clear.

"You know Raynor?"

"Huh?" Logan was sort of spaced out; having assumed the conversation had been over.

"The captain," she repeated patiently, "What do you know about him?"

"Well, not a lot. We're not exactly bosom buddies; actually I only met him a couple of days ago for the first time on Mar Sara. But from what I've seen so far, he's a good guy. That I can tell; he's straight, simple, but honest and sincere…hell, he's a better man than I am. Not a lot like him in the universe."

"Uh huh. Good guy…And do you want to know what your _good guy_ was thinking about when I appeared?"

"Probably nothing that didn't run through everyone else's mind as well."

"Including yours?" Her scrutinizing raised eyebrow directed his way summoned a faint grin to his face.

"I can't recall." She made a slight exhaling noise, which Logan linked to being the barest breath of a chuckle.

"I hear that sort of crap all the time," she went on, "About how I look and me being a Ghost. And I just tune it out. But he…well, he wasn't even trying to hide it." She paused for a moment, before adding in, "Pig," under her breath.

"Ah don't worry about him," Logan said casually, "he's just had it pretty rough."

"And everyone else hasn't?" Kerrigan retorted, "You think we've all been having one great big party?"

"Well I'm not denying that so far most of us have had a shitty time, but then again, _I_ haven't recently watched my homeworld become overrun with hostile aliens, only to watch the whole planet being blown up by another set of equally hostile aliens. Watching my whole life going up in smoke for reasons that are way beyond me. I have a sneaking suspicion that that sort of thing can put anyone in a bad mood." Their comm system beeped, Bennett's cantankerous voice cutting through the static. "Coast is clear y'all. Get on down here so we can get start shootin' off the fireworks." Kerrigan unshouldered her rifle again, but glanced over at Logan.

"Speaking of bad mood," she told him, "Your commander seems to be quite the character." Logan shrugged, knowing that was an understatement.  
"Sweetheart, you have no idea." She merely stared back, her bright eyes narrowing at him, and for a split second, he was wondering if he had made a massively critical error in calling her that, even as a joke, and that she might have been contemplating killing him. But then she gave a tired grin, and walked past, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Keep your pants on soldier boy," she informed him curtly, "If I was going to kill you, you'd have been dead a while ago." Logan certainly didn't disbelieve that, and made a mental note not to cross the lieutenant. He was betting she could read that from his mind, and if so, it probably made her smile.

--

--

--

It was easy to spot the Antiga Prime colony. There were numerous airborne fighters roaring overhead in deliberate patters of patrol over the main colony. Confederate CF/A-17 Wraiths, tactical SSF, Space Superiority Fighter, keeping an eye on things from above. Not only that, but the hastily built Confederate outpost encircling the Antigan borders stuck out like a sore thumb, creating a loose yet nonetheless intimidating barrier. One that needed to be broken.

"Alright," Kerrigan loaded her rifle with a click and preformed one last self-diagnostic check of her suit's systems, "I'll be right back."

With a hum, Kerrigan vanished again. The air around where she stood wavered for a moment, and then she was gone, leaving the marines alone. It wouldn't be long until the show started, and Bennett and Beranger went around their respective units, checking ammo, readying weapons, and threatening everyone not to fuck up.

One must admire Kerrigan's speed and efficiency, as not five minutes later the comm system opened up.

"I've taken care of Duke's officers," Kerrigan reported in, "And I think the Antigan's are ready to lend us a hand." There was a chirp of static, and a crusty man's voice concurred.

"That's right; we've tolerated these Confederate goons long enough. All Antigan militia forces, open fire on all Confederate troops and buildings!" And in a roar of gunfire, all hell began to break loose, as the Antigan's were suddenly loosing their pent up fury on the unprepared Alpha Squadron forces.

"Alright boys," Raynor hollered, revving his bike with a maniacal enthusiasm, "Now it's our turn! Let's give'em hell!" There was a chorus of agreeing hollers, and with shouting all the marines went charging out, guns raised.

Logan went right along with them, adopting a crouch as he went trucking into the fray beside his unit. He had been in enough battles at this point to not be swept up in the initial shock of the moment, letting the numb paralysis set in. But still, Logan felt a twinge of fear at rushing headlong at the defensive fortifications, hearing bullets and projectiles whizzing overhead and the sounds of screams and blasts in the air. They reached the edge of the perimeter, their advancement held off by a bunker, which was concentrating on the Antigan's revolt from the high ground. The Troopers and 507 spread out, and began laying down fire towards the hardened structure, and occasional fragmentation grenade from Raynor's bike went whooshing over their heads to rock the reinforced steel walls.

But despite its resilience, it didn't take long for the bunker to begin to collapse in on itself due to the punishing barrage, and soon it feel to pieces, three white-suited marines and a firebat crawling out of the wreckage. Logan was close enough to see their expressions; readable fear and uncertain dread. And then their suits were rapidly painted a grisly red, as a volley of countless iron needles ripped through their bodies, tearing them into Swiss cheese. The convulsed around the impalements, jerking with each hit before at last they crumpled to the ground, leaking their life-blood across the hard earth.

The marines went charging onward, heading towards the next fortification, which was already crumpling to the ground. Logan made to follow, but he was starting to feel sick. He lagged behind the rest, passing slowly next to the four men that had been gunned down so ruthlessly. He saw their faces, frozen in their fear and agony; blood-splattered and torched…He felt his stomach turn into half a dozen knots as he forced himself to move away.

The fight had been thoroughly stripped out of Logan, and instead of charging, he could only slog along, eyes watching the grim horror of the slaughter. This wasn't what he had been expecting…When he had been part of the Backwater force, driving the Zerg away, it had been different. Almost triumphant. Now…it felt…brutal…wrong. As he was lost in his muddled thoughts, from the wreckage of a nearby bunker, left in the wake of the Sons of Korhal, there was a groan as several pieces of the steel exoskeleton were pushed aside, and out stumbled a white-suited marine.

The Confederate soldier, a nasty-looking man was holding his left side, which was bleeding, turning his pallid armor into a scarlet, and hobbled away from the wreckage. He lifted his gaze up, and caught sight of Logan and stared at him, Logan staring right back. Then his rifle began to rise, the marine struggling to lift the weapon towards the enemy. Logan felt a wince in his stomach again, and before he knew what he was doing, his own arm raised as a sheer reflex and he depressed the trigger. Suddenly a dozen new holes was torn through the injured soldier, sending him sprawling backwards to die.

Logan didn't want to, but he couldn't help but look down at the soldier…the man he had just killed. Eyes bulging, blood dribbling from his agape mouth, Logan felt his whole body shuddering inside his combat suit, trying with all his might to keep from pitching his cookies all over the place. He didn't or couldn't move, just standing their immobile, his mind running amuck.

As the gunfire subsided, Logan didn't notice, he was dazed and was completely unaware when the grizzled Lieutenant Beranger stalked over and scowled at him.

"_There_ ya are," he growled disdainfully, "What the hell ya doin' so far back? Ya damn fool sergeant thought ya might be dead. What's the problem soldier? Get the lead out!" Then he saw Logan's face, it being an unhealthy shade of pale, before slapping Logan on the shoulder. "Hey kid, what's got _you_ so spooked?" The impact caused Logan to snap out of his shock, and looked around at Beranger. He then gestured with a quaking finger to the Confederate corpse before him.

"I…I just…killed him…"

"Yeah? So what?"

"Don't you get it? I _killed_ him!" Lieutenant Beranger shrugged and increased the depth to his scowl, then proceeded to suck up some snot, and hawked a massive loogie on the dead man.

"Yeah I got it. He's dead. What I don't get is why the hell you're having a panic attack on me. I mean, isn't that why you're here in the first place? You were sent to prison because ya killed a guy right?"

"I was _convicted_ of murder, but I never killed anyone!"

"Oh, I get it. You were set up. Makes sense, that's why you got such a bone to pick with those Confederate assholes."

"You say that so nonchalantly! They completely fucked up my life!"

"Heh, take a good look around you junior…Join the fuckin' club! An' I suggest you quit with ya goddamn bellyachin' 'bout killing people, cause I can tell ya you'll be doin' that a lot in the coming days. So suck it up and get your ass in gear, everyone's assemblin' by the command center!"

Easier said than done, Logan wanted to say, but kept his trap shut and merely followed after him, stealing one last glance behind.

Despite his absence in the battle, it had been a resounding success, the Alpha squadron forces had been caught with their pants down, the two hostile forces crushing their defense line into the dirt. Their anti-air turrets, overhead fighters and their standing ground forces had all been annihilated. The Antigan's were already outside their own entrenched fortifications, making a raucous ruckus of celebration. Logan and his chaperone climbed up the hill, and found 507 and the Troopers, Raynor and Kerrigan accumulating by the central command building.

"Hey Ray," Beranger jerked his thumb at Logan, before firing off another gob of spit, "I found ya wayward sheep. An' he ain't dead. Ya might want ta keep a tighter lease on 'em next time, else he'll fall down a Zerg hole, then he'll _really_ be dead." He proceeded to grunt some gruff laughter before going off to see to his own crew. Logan was still feeling slightly queasy, but when he lifted his eyes to stare into the stormy expression of his superior, he quickly dismissed it.

"Where the _fuck_ have ya been soldier?" Bennett practically bellowed, not giving a damn about who was watching, "When I said we're chargin' the lines, I didn't mean we were takin' a fuckin' nap or gettin' a drink! Shit on toast boy, do you have any idea what it means ta be in the fuckin' army? Goddamn, ya showed ya could be a capable soldier on Mar Sara, and now ya fuckin' blew it by being totally useless here!" He walked off a few feet, collecting himself, before turning back, and continuing to rebuking him.

"While yer dickin' around bein' a scared little ducklin', the rest of us are out there riskin' our necks without ya! A combat unit is a brotherhood son; it requires the help of every man to keep itself together. With missin' one, it might be what causes us tha get blow tha hell! An' I ain't havin' a simperin' white-liver puttin' _my_ whole unit at risk just cause he's got a guilty conscience! Either you grow yourself a spine proto, or else I'll throw ya ass to tha wolves, you copy that?" Bennett's fuming berating was valid Logan knew. If he had been needed in the battle it could have lead to the deaths of his allies. But still, he could feel his own temper starting to ignite.

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me," Logan snarled back in return, his level of hostility making the Sarge narrow his one good eye, "But don't forget that I wasn't put in this unit by choice. I was stuck here by some Confederate assholes who thought it might be cute to send me to the front lines. And I'll thank you for not trampling over what little human decency I have left. Maybe this will come as a surprise _Sarge_, but I've always had a little problem with killing people."

"I'd be more inclined ta believe that boy, if ya hadn't gone nuts on the Zerg back on Mar Sara."

"Killing mindless aliens and killing people are two different things, you know. Be they Confederate or otherwise."

"Be that as it may, you'd better get used to tha idea, as you're a rebel now. I'll admit that we've all seen our share of shit, but that ain't no reason ta fuckin' freeze up like an oversized fudge pop."

"Tell me," Logan pressed, going back on the offensive, "did _you_ keep a straight face the first time _you_ killed a person? Did you just shrug off the first time you committed legal murder and keep on rolling?" Bennett screwed his face up, before giving a brief chuckle.

"Alright, ya got me there kid. I suppose everyone gets a little freaked with killin' another man for the first time. But now that you've used that excuse, don't be thinkin' it'll work a second time. Ya fuck up like that again, and I'll be usin' your pretty ass as a decoy, you follow?"

"I follow." With that unpleasantness taken care of, Raynor and Kerrigan took over command of all the Antigan's, coordinating with the other loose pockets of resistance along the planet, organizing them together, into a single unit including all vehicles and weapons, integrated into the Sons of Korhal's growing military presence.

Everything seemed to have been set up, the partnership was running smoothing. At least until the computer came online, delivering a less than thrilling report.

_Alert…_

--

--

_"I'm detecting a large Confederate strike force closing in on our position."_

--

--

A quick scan of the surrounding terrain conformed hundreds of bio-signatures along with the telltale sheen of incoming transport and aerial assault craft. A large strike force indeed…Kerrigan gave a rankled glare at the readout. "Well, _they're_ sure not wasting any time."


	9. Bunker Time

**Chapter 9: **Bunker Time

"Alright y'all," the Antigan platoon leader called, crawling out of the bunker labeled #9, "It's all yours. Keep it standing while I'm gone ya hear?" Three more marines followed, stretching and rolling their stiff joints, their faces haggard and their eyes bloodshot.

"Don't worry about a thing," Harvey Webber assured him with his uneven grin, "We'll watch out for ya baby. Thanks for keepin' it warm for us." It was the seventh shift change since the siege began, and Logan was getting awfully tired. If not for caffeine pills, a few sparse minutes of naps in between shifts, and good old fashion coffee, Logan might have been declared legally dead. His normally beige tan was now turning ashen, his hair and skin were all oily and greasy, and his eyes looked to be imploding in on his head. The knowledge that there was a large number of hostile troops somewhere out in the craggy landscape, creeping around and preparing to launch an attack was disconcerting for ones nerves.

"Come on Bird Brain," the ex-deranged serial murderer motioned for the marine in purple, who was trailing behind, to enter the fortification. "Ladies first."

"I wish everyone would stop calling me that," the diminutive young man groaned, "my name is Ernie, Ernie Klooster. It's a good name, so why can't you call me that?"

"Cause you're in the military now boy, and names and status don't mean shit here. And we gotta give ya a name that fits ya."

"And how does Bird Brain fit me exactly?" Harvey ran an iron hand over the smooth dome covering of his suit, scrunching his face up with deliberation.

"Well…I don't know exactly…but I like sayin' it so there ya go. Now quit squawkin' Bird, and get your scrawny chicken ass in there. Hup hup hup!" And with a shove he pushed the kid in. Malcolm "The Tank" followed after him, his firebat suit making him even larger and more massive than before.

"Woo whee, you're a big fucker ain't cha? Shit you some sort a mutant spawn or something? Goddamn, I thought we had ourselves an eclipse or something, ya block out all the fuckin' light when ya walk around."

Malcolm never responded, didn't even look around, he merely wordlessly ducked into the bunker, having to squeeze through then narrow opening to enter.

Logan came last, hoping for a break in the action so that he might get a little sleep.

"You're quite a character Shark Bite," Logan told him as he past, "You know that?"

"Fuckin' A Stone, I'm a regular Jolly Rogers. Someone oughta write a book 'bout me or something."

"Don't get carried away," and Logan entered. Harvey followed, pulling the heavy reinforced door closed, bolting it behind him. Each man fell into their own corner, and the silence fell.

This was the fourth time Logan had been assigned to bunker duty in the last two days. He defended the northeastern part of the base, forced to endure the constant piercing whines of the nearby SCV's, as they tirelessly sliced up crystals that formed on the surface for fuel and building purposes.

He also had been part of a roaming patrol, which had scouted a large portion of terrain around the base, setting up sensors which would detect any enemy movements. That nearly ended with Logan getting a large hole burned through his chest, as suddenly lasers came blasting from the sky, seemingly from nowhere. The initial shot struck a man name Dennis Swint, known as Pipecleaner, and blasted him in the head, disintegrating it from his shoulders. Afterwards, some said it was an improvement. Everyone else dove for cover, hiding behind rocks, whilst the platoon leader bawled into his radio for a cloaking scan ASAP. Two more men were killed before the two fighters above were partially visible, and the remaining forces sent up a salvo of iron spikes, turning the low-flying planes into flying shreds before they crashed.

Logan also helped hold the base against a Confederate rush, as their ground forces tried to retake the Antigan camp. He took several deep breaths, pointed his gun out of the bunker window slots, and fired. He aimed where there were enemies, trying not to focus on when they died. And die they did, some in a cloud of blood, others, like the pilots of Goliath combat walkers, in a burst of fire. He still wasn't thrilled at killing his fellow man, but he didn't really see a way to bring the hated Confederacy crashing down to ruin without doing so.

And here again, with some familiar faces, he was sitting in a bunker on the ass-end of the base, wasting time. But with less of a chance of attack, he might be able to get an hour of sleep or something. He was hoping anyways.

"Shit man," Ernie complained after an agonizing hour of nothing, "This is so fucking _boring_."

"All part of the experience little man," Harvey was leaned back against the reinforced wall, eyes closed, "We ain't goin' around killin' shit all day long, no matter how much we wanna. An' I _know_ I wanna. Sometimes we gotta sit here all quiet like, twiddlin' our thumbs like good little boys. Waitin' is part of the job just as much a blastin' shit to dust."

"But there are Confederates out there," the obviously eager recruit pressed, "We should be out there stopping them, getting into battles and fighting to protect our rights! I'm interested in seeing battle; I've never even seen a real one before."

"Be glad you _don't_ see all that kid," Logan told the rookie, his mind flashing back to the first blood-letting he had borne witness to, "It's enough to scare the piss right out of you, no matter how tough you are. I'm a hardass from prison, and I wasn't ready for it. You look like you're fresh from the training barracks, so I'd go out on a limb to say your first reaction to a real, honest to god battle would be to assume the fetal position and freeze like an ice cube. Don't be in such a hurry to get blown straight to hell."

"No way," Ernie insisted fiercely, "I'm tougher than that; I'd go out there myself and kill all of them! Me freeze up? That's bullshit!"

"Not exactly kid," Harvey speculated, breaking in, "There's a lick of truth ta that. Most folks ain't ready for that kinda trauma right out of tha startin' gate. Guy's like me…crazy sons of bitches, it don't bother us none. But ya sheltered nice boys…well, you're just askin' for a big ol' shock. But in this here fight, ya can't shy away from it forever, an' ya gotta go to it an' get ya hands dirty. Pretty much it's the first battle that counts. It's the one whether or not you're gonna find out if you're gonna live or die durin' your military career. If ya can live through that first one, then you start gettin' used to it, and ya get better an' better at the copin'. Not to mention learnin' little tricks on how ta stay alive to boot. And," Harvey looked over at Logan, sullen in the corner, "I never thought I'd hear of a 507 boy who shied away from a bomb-blastin', blood-lettin' fight." Logan shrugged.

"Call me a softy then."

"Well hell brother, just by lookin' atcha, I'll already call ya a softy, but now I'm thinkin' ya might be a little on the pansy side too."

"And by looking at you, I'd never would have imagined that you had as much sense and powers of observation and contemplation as you do. Looks certainly are deceiving, aren't they?"

"Shit, give me more credit than that Stone. I maybe a psychotic lunatic, mass murderer, and all-around sociopath, but that don't mean I got wood in my head. I'm sharper than a splinter; I've thought myself out of tons of jams…it's why I'm still standin' here right now."  
"Doesn't that also have something to do with you being a freak of nature who doesn't know when it's his time to die?"

"Hmmm, partly, but that sort of craziness needs somethin' to direct it, else you'll find you're self starin' down fifty gun barrels, get your ass chewed up by enough lead to paint a fence, and come away with a face that'll make aliens run in the other direction."

"Like I said, looks are deceiving…"

Logan felt the argument drain his strength again, and began to nod off. Next thing he knew, he was up again, jerking up in his suit, checking for the time. Seventeen minutes had past. Not a lot of sleep. And with inactivity, drowsiness would come back again and again. Time spent in bunkers, Logan learned, is slow time, merely waiting for an enemy attack that may very well never happen. All things considered, he'd rather an attack just happen, or nothing at all, so he wouldn't need to worry, and be able to sleep.

Just like all of his other bunker duties thus far, this one was just as slow and meticulous. So slow and so meticulous, that it was almost a sadistic torture, inflicted on him by someone who enjoyed wrecking suffering on the loyal soldier folks. Not to mention that Malcolm was the strong silent type, hardly ever saying anything under normal circumstances, so that left two people only to talk to. And if no one was in the mood for talking, due to bad moods or an aversion towards someone else, then you were screwed.

One _could_ start talking to oneself, but then everyone would stare at you like you were an unhinged weirdo. And Logan had enough problems on his plate without being thought of as a deranged nutbar. So he struggled to stay awake and concentrate on anything that he could. Even with his intense concentration, he still nodded off a couple of times, jerking awake, expecting to hear gunshots and a raging battle just outside their bunker.

But no, nothing even remotely interesting like that. Malcolm and Ernie were playing a game of cards, Ernie's face was furrowed, undoubtedly confounded by Malcolm's unyielding and indomitable poker face. Harvey was sitting at one of the minute window slots, gun resting in his lap, staring out at the rather uninteresting landscape.

"I still don't get this," Logan was now the one to break the silence once again, having his fill of unending quiet, interrupting the card game Ernie and Malcolm were holding. He wasn't really directing his words at anyone, but when all people have to do is talk or sit with the stillness, then someone will undoubtedly answer.

"What?" Malcolm said, not asking exactly in response and not even looking around from his cards.

"How the military higher ups work. We're part of an elite attack squad right? So why are they sticking us in this bunker at some minor point on the line, instead of being a part of the primary attack force. Why don't they just throw some green rookies in here?" He then glanced over at Ernie. "No offence."

"None taken…I think…"

"Though the way I figure it," Harvey gave him his signature smile, "You're kinda a rookie to, ain't cha?" Logan couldn't really argue there. "Anyway, don't you be worryin' 'bout it Stone-man. When the time comes, we'll be on the first transport over there; I'd stake my left hand on it. An' it'll probably be loaded down with the craziest fuckin' killers this shit-hole outfits got."

"Like you?"

"Exactly like me, damn right. And you too boy. Stone-Cold Stone. I've heard ya bein' called that a couple times. Some of the boy's were talkin' 'bout some shit ya pulled with them Zerg. Made ya sound pretty badass…I'd like ta see that I think. Cause ta me, ya look like a girly-man, the kind that likes ta dress in women's panties, and doll themselves up."

"Wow," Logan dismissed him sarcastically, "Your admiration for my cross-dressing lifestyle is appalling." Harvey roared with laugher at Logan's completely level response, showing off the full glory of his twisted jagged teeth, slapping him on the shoulder.

"You're a weird one Stone-Cold…but I like ya anyway…just not _that_ way, ya hear?"

"Trust me…I hear."

---

---

---

In the end though, nothing really remarkable happened in Bunker #9, though there were splashes of the radio, transmitting reports of a Confederate assault on the western defense point. In the distance, the sounds of a skirmish; gunshots, explosions, and several screams rang across the barren landscape.

"Ah man," Harvey beat a hand against the reinforced steel walls, watching the distant carnage. "That ain't right man. That just ain't right."

Shortly after the attack, the radio announced the shift change, and rotation of all forces. Logan managed to snag about thirty minutes of sleep all told in the bunker, and when the relief force came in, swapping out, he felt sure that if he didn't get more sleep, he was going to keel over and die.

Luck was with him though, when his break came afterwards, giving him five hours of down time. Logan would have liked to have a shower, get some dinner, and then sack out, but he never had much of a choice. Exhaustion intervened, and before he even removed his suit, he was sleeping, slumped against a wall in the barracks, and out like a light he went.

Next thing he knew, someone was kicking him in the side, enough to jostle him over.

"Get up slacker," a disgruntled and yet surprisingly uninterested tone beckoned him, no doubt the speaker being the one who was prodding him with their foot, "Otherwise someone might declare you D.O.J. What a shame that'd be…"

Shaking the grogginess away, Logan regained a sitting position, blinking his eyes, and looking around. Hovering over him with a less than friendly expression, was Unit 507's most…cheery and exuberant soldier.

"Morning little one," the soldier stared down at him with disdain. In the dim light of evening, what light there was, those pale gray eyes shone out with an eerie color, making the man inside the suit look somewhat like an undead.

"Dead-Man," Logan mumbled, getting to his feet.

"That's right," Burk griped, "and you're late for your shift. And of course as I'm also in your unit, and since you're late _and_ the rookie, I'm going to be hearing about this Bennett. That just makes my day really fucking grand, you know? Anything else you'd like to do to me today, hmm? Shove one of your meathooks up my asshole? Forcibly shave my head and call me Angle?" Despite his attitude, Burk wasn't yelling in anger, or putting off a vibe of being actually pissed. It was more of a calm yet peeved demeanor. More like Logan was a pain in the ass, and nothing but.

"Sorry," Logan apologized, raising up and shouldering his gun, "Guess I fell into a semi-coma there. Tired after all the shit around here."

"I'm not interested in your sorry; I'm interested in you moving your lazy ass to your post. I got enough crap to occupy my time with Confederate goons storming the gates and being stuck on this shithole planet, then to be baby-sitting a worthless ass-kisser like yourself."

"Nice to know I didn't put you into a bad mood…"

"Funny funny shitface. Move it." Burk led the way to Logan's next station, Bunker #4, which was stationed at the northwestern edge of the headquarters, a stones throw away from the base's Starport. It was placed there after a close call in which a small attack force of Confederate infantry snuck in quietly and began to place charges all over the facility. Their plan was busted by a circling Wraith scout which called in the report. Another squad had since tried the same attack pattern, but Bunker #4 stopped them cold.

Logan and Burk arrived, a towering firebat waiting outside to greet them. She was perhaps the biggest woman Logan had ever seen, about half a foot taller than him, and just as thick if not thicker all the way around. And not thick like housewives who stay at home all day watching bad T.V. and eating loads of chocolate. She was thick more like a woman who lived and breathed fitness and exercise. If Logan ran full steam into her, he felt certain that he'd bounce right off, and not because of her heavier armor, which was also a deep brilliant blue, like his. Another Sons of Korhal soldier.

"You the boys?" she asked, looking down at the two of them. "Pleasure. Lydia Rushings. Call me B.Q."

"Guess what that stands for…" Burk instructed Logan as he breezed past her with notable scorn. Lydia sent a curled lip after him, before looking back at Logan.

"Friendly guy isn't he?" he asked with a grin. She shrugged. "Should I be asking what B.Q. stands for?" Her eyes narrowed, but her face softened enough so the scowl vanished, leaving her with a straight face.

"I'm called Bitch Queen. And I don't look too kindly on any sort of cracks you boys have to make about it."

"Bitch Queen?" Logan contemplated, "Isn't that what we should call him?" motioning after Burk. That softened her up even more, as she gave a chuckle.

"Maybe. Now get in there little man, we're already behind as it is." He nodded, entering the fortification.

Inside was the last man on the bunker detail. If he really could be called a man. He looked no older than eighteen, pale with shaved brown hair, looking to be swallowed whole by the CMC-300 combat suit. Samuel Kincaid, known as Pincushion. He gave Logan a brisk salute, unknowingly messing up the angle his hand was meant to be at.

"Hi," he greeted with flamboyant buoyancy, unbefitting of a soldier to say the least.

"Hey there kid," Logan hailed back, wishing he could go back to sleep. The door of the bunker was shut, locked, and the vigil began anew. No sooner had the first silence fallen, was it shattered.

"Wow," Samuel was all but gushing, sitting in his cramped little corner, wearing a wide grin, looking to be having the time of his life, "Isn't this exciting? We'd better stay alert, an attack may come at any time…"

The kid painfully screamed of a new recruit, his wide-eyed exuberance knew nothing of the toils and long grueling hours of doing nothing even remotely close to relevant inside the hollow steel fortified shell. Logan was pretty green himself, and he had already learned the bunker time was slow time, and almost a punishment to a degree. Undoubtedly, the other two also were well aware of this, though only one of them expressed themselves.

"Damn rookies," Burk all but spat, turning to inspect the closest wall. Samuel's face fell a few notches, as he seemed confused by the less than thrilled reaction. But he had seen the scowl on Burk's face, and he must have known better than to try to push anymore, and he promptly fell silent.

It was in this way the first hour past, all parties maintaining a brooding silence as their carried out their singular duties. Finally though, the stillness was broken.

"Is anything going to happen, you think?" Samuel once more asked, now a bit more tentatively than before, there being an edge in his voice. Lydia glanced over at Burk, who was still staring out at the arid wastelands outside, then to Logan, who was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Knowing that the answer was up to her, yet having no real answer to give, she opted to shrug.

"We'll see…"

"What a fucking awesome answer Rushings," Burk grunted at once from his gawking position, and though his face wasn't visible, you could hear the sneer in his words, "We'll see…You must have been a fucking genius on the outside. A PHD in Meta-Physics, am I right?"

"And you must have been a politician," she shot back, "Cause I've never heard a soldier shoot such hallow and empty bullshit before."

"Oh…my aching heart…You wound me deeply dear…"

"It's gonna be your aching ball in a few minutes if you keep that up you putrid fungus."

There was a mounting strain in that small enclosed space, which had ignited through clashing attitudes, and one could almost feel the boiling heat of conflict growing hotter and hotter, racing towards an eruption of hostility. And then, the eruption came.

"Ah man," Burk sighed with a dark sense of mockery, "It's tough being stuck in here with a slack-eyed kid, an oversized gender confused woman, and an ex-convict with as much sense as the crap that comes out of my ass…Must be my reward for being such a nice guy."

"You know Dead-Man," Lydia leaned forward, her teething becoming grit, "You're an asshole, you know that?" Burk turned to face her, looking her right in the eye, and also stretched himself out.

"Yes I do know that. But thanks for pointing it out anyways. How attentive of you. Maybe you want a reward now…let's see, I might have a doggy treat for the good little bitch…Maybe something appropriate for a woman who could only get a date with a meatgrinder?"

Lydia was on her feet in a second, towering over the smaller man, glaring fire at him.

"You got a problem with me, you arrogant fuck? Or are you just asking for me to deep fry your sorry ass?"

"No problem…I just always never understood the irrational mood-swings in woman. Though from looking at you, I'd say you're probably more of a man than me. How big's your dick, if you don't mind me asking…?" There was almost a palpable heat pouring from Lydia's eyes, and without any hesitation, she disengaged the safety on her two arm mounted flamethrowers. The moment her perdition flamethrowers ignited, Burk's gauss rifle was moving, trained upward, pointed right at her chest.

"Come on you ape in heat, let's go, anytime you're ready."

"I'm gonna shut that mouth of yours, you little shit!"

"Please," Samuel cried out, getting up and waving his hands, "Stop fighting…please! Please stop!" The young kid was turning white, his arms quivering, and it probably wasn't a really wise idea for him to be holding a gun at the moment. "I…I can't handle all the yelling…please…"

"You can't handle _yelling?_" Burk gave a nasty grin, perhaps taking a sick pleasure in the poor guy's fearfulness. "What the hell did you join the military for boy? Explosions and screams? You can't handle shouting, and you think you're going to cope with people getting killed. I'd give you three seconds outside before you piss yourself in fear. Shit, I don't know what possessed a little scrawny-chicken shit like you to enter the military, but I'd wager my kidney's that you're going to be fertilizer the first time you get out of craphole posts like this."

"You know," Lydia scowled, "you're gonna underestimate the wrong person one day, and get your brains splattered all over the dirt. And I really hope to see it. People are tougher than they look, and you're a fool to not believe it."

"Now that's where I disagree with you bitch. I have seen more blood-letting situations than the there of you combined, and I've seen so many rookies cut down that sometimes it looked like a field day. And all of them were wide-eyed and helpless like this shrimp here. You'll notice the tougher kinda guy's last a lot longer. Sure, we may be blown up in the end, but at least we're not dog food right off the bat.

"Bullshit," Lydia countered, arguing further, getting more and more worked up, "Appearances don't mean a damn thing, just cause a man's so fucking macho don't mean he'll survive any longer…and inexperience don't always mean weak. Sometimes the most inexperienced can become better than veterans."

"Wow the little bitch has some arguments," Burk ridiculed, "You should have tried out for the high-school debate team. 'Cause we all know they don't let woman with cocks join cheerleading, am I right? But how about we get a third party to decide? What do you think Junior?" Burk asked, glancing down at Samuel, towering over the cringing rookie, "Are you a tough-guy? Are you going to be a man and let a woman fight your fight?" Samuel looked up at the grim semi-sociopath, then over at Lydia, who was a very large woman with two high powered flamethrowers. He was clearly shivering.

"I…uh…" he stammered, "Well…I…I guess…"

"Answer me boy!" Burk hollered.

"Well?!" Lydia demanded.

"Uh…uh….I…I have no opinion."

"What kind of horseshit answer is that?" Lydia growled, looking a hair's thickness away from grabbing the kid and shake him forcefully, "I stick up for you and you don't even side with me?" Burk's eyes narrowed, as he leaned down, staring right into the frightened eyes looking back.

"I think you're just trying to get out of making someone around here _awfully_ angry…And I think you're certainly doing just that."

"And do you know what _I_ think," Logan spoke up, having been quiet and trying to sleep the whole time, now opening his eyes. The two bickerers turned, glancing at him. "I think you two need to sit down, shut up, and stop acting like little kids. Shit, my best friend's daughter is only four and she behaves better than you both. If this is that fabled _discipline_ the military is supposed to whip into someone, then I sure as hell ain't impressed."

"We ain't talking about you rook," Burk gave an evil eye, "We'll do fine without the opinion of a gutless shit-shoving convict whose more of a coward than this blubbering fish-bait."

"I wasn't aware that showing a tiny bit of compassion for other human lives, and not having a mindless sense of savagery, or an insatiable need to destroy, maim, and kill, was what was known as cowardice. Though, if you want to talk about being spineless, then maybe we should look at you Dead-Man. Somehow, I think you're shorter on guts than anyone else around here; your insecurity complex is making you an over-analytical condescending douchebag. That sort of behavior isn't that of a confident man, but of a simpering little maggot."

Silence never sounded so quiet. Dead Man Burk stood stock-still, his face showing no outward signs of what was going on in his head. Then, without a sound, he swaggered over to Logan, his stride heavy and slow, the iron boots of his suit clunking as he menacingly approached. His gun, still in hand came around now, so that the mussel was jammed right into Logan's face. The gun clicked, as the safety was disengaged.

"That a fact?" Burk inquired, his voice growing soft and hushed, no doubt a bad sign with someone who had such an unoptimistic view on life and love.

Logan stared back, his face not even flinching, looking down that gun barrel with unbending nerves of steel. He may have been a bit shaky under normal circumstances, but at the moment, he was just wanted to go back to bed. He was too tired to be afraid.

"That's a fact," he answered simply.

They remained locked like that, neither moving, and neither dropping their gaze. The stalemate lasted a good three minutes. Then…

"If you're going to shoot me Burk, then hurry it up. I'm sure there are better things for me to look at than your smug face or the inside of your gun. So either shoot me, or sit down and shut up."

Burk stood, his heartless eyes drilling into the dark unyielding ones, still resolute and not backing down. After a few more tense moments, he lowered his weapon, though the look on his face spoke of reluctance. He returned to his spot, tossing his gun aside, and reclined against the wall, shutting off the outside world.

"Stone Cold indeed…" he murmured.

The high tensions in Bunker #4 began to wind down, as Burk was pouting in his corner. Samuel was wiping the sweat from his face; his complexion took a good hour to come back from the ghoulish white. In that time, Lydia sat next to Logan, whispering.

"Thanks for shutting him up."

"Don't," he answered back with a shrug. "I didn't really care what you two did, but I was trying to have a nap and the bickering was keeping me awake. That's all."

"Well whatever, but thanks anyway…" She was quiet a moment, then… "How do you stand that sort of stuff?

"What?"

"The kind of crap that he was spewing? Little prick…He's so…so…"

"Insufferable?"

"That's the word. How do you handle that without freaking out?" Logan breathed out his breath, thinking back to hardly even a week ago, and his life as it had been.

"When you're in prison for three years, you put up with worse shit than he spits every moment of every day. You either get driven crazy by it or you learn to shrug it off."

"Words from the wise," Lydia agreed, "I guess I should listen to them."

With hostilities within the ranks temporarily quelled, the monotony of the post fell upon them once again. An apprehensive sort of silence descended, and the peace endured the hours with a tentative obscurity. But finally, the door was opened, letting in another group of inexperienced adolescent Antigan rookies, letting Logan out into the fresh air.

Lydia separated herself from Burk at once, going towards the direction of the nearest barracks, whilst Samuel swiftly made himself scarce. As for Logan, he was actually unsure of his next assignment, hesitant to ask Burk. It had been pretty tense back there, and judging from the stillness from him, it might not have been too much of a stretch for Dead Man to evenly turn and pump some iron into Logan's face if he so much as asked for the time.

"Burk! Stone!" the unmistakable crotchety call of Sergeant Bennett blared out of their radios, nearly making Logan leap out of his suit. Burk glanced over at him, expressionless, then flipped his mike on.

"I hear you Sarge. What's up? You miss us already?"

"Real cute smartass. You two get back to Central HQ double time! We're gettin' ready to move out. Get your asses over here now!"

"Yeah yeah, we're coming, keep your hair on."

The Starport bunker was close to the central command center, and it didn't take long for it to rise up over the lesser buildings. As they entered the heart of the base, Burk, who now strode in front, and who had been utterly silent for a while, at last spoke.

"You're cold Stone," Burk never looked back, but kept walking, "Takes a lot of balls to talk trash to me with no fear. I respect your guts. Just don't blow it when we get to fighting." Logan locked and loaded his weapon with its resounding click.

"I don't intend to." They arrived at the command center, finding the Troopers, Unit 507, and a modest detachment of Antigan military assembled.

"Okay, load up boys, time to earn our pay!" The groups split up, piling into the dropships, strapping in whilst they took off. En route, the Sarge gave them the details.

"Here's the skinny boys," Bennett pulled his black combat gloves on, clenching a fist with each; "We're going to be a primary part of the counterattack against the strike force out there. We got another couple of loads of Antigan troops backin' us up, as well as an ass load of air support. The problem is the landin' zone is hotter than a zergling's tookus. So it's our job is ta swoop in there and take out all those turrets and stuff, lettin' the rest of our crew in. Then we'll simply roll on over to their camp and squash them motherfuckers flat!"

"We're doing this all by ourselves?" Logan couldn't help but ask, knowing the answer already.

"That's right Stone. We and the Troopers, and another Antigan assault group. Then once we sanitize the place, all our pals will drop in, we'll kill some bad-guys, then head on home for some beer."

"Beer sounds good boss," Colt licked his lips, "I don't suppose we can get a taste of that now?"

"Naw," Marcus chuckled, "The Sarge already drank it all himself."

'Yeah," Bennett growled at them with a grin, "keep on laughin' ya asswipes! Now I don't want any mistakes down there, ya hear? I want this done right and done fast. We're gonna show everyone just how tough 507 really is!" And with those words, the dropship dipped sharply, beginning to make his approach. Though it was clear by the way the cargo hold was swaying, the landing wasn't going smoothly.

"We're taking fire," the pilot called through the speakers, "A whole mess of them bastards are at the LZ. Don't suppose some of you boys could take'em out from here?"

"Ain't a problem," Bennett called back. "Daemon, Colt, you're with me!" The two marines released their harnesses, and managed to stagger over to Bennett. "Strap in boys, we got some clean up ta do. Everyone hang on ta somethin', cause it's about to get really windy in here!"

With a flashing of yellow warning light, the loading ramp at the back of the craft lowered, as the three attached harnesses to themselves. There was a roar as the nearby engines and the blazing wind came pouring in, and anything that wasn't strapped or nailed down was getting sucked out, raining down on whatever lay below. And Bennett and his boys were shooting as the craft continued to circle, and Logan was really hoping that the dropship wasn't going to be shot down. That's not a very dramatic nor meaningful way to die.

"Alright, that takes care of them! Everybody, let's go! We're comin' in hot, so you'd better hit the ground runnin'. An' feel free ta shoot Confederates on your way down!" Bennett, Daemon, and Colt were already in position, and with the calm precision that came from perhaps dozens of missions before, they leapt right out of the ship, hanging on to the dangling lines, as they repelled down the distance, what looked to be almost three hundred meters. A few seconds later, the next group jumped, and then another, and finally Logan was standing at the edge, looking down.

"This is nuts," Logan groaned, as he pushed himself off the rim. What followed was a world-spinning plunge to earth, as he felt gravity snag hold of him and forced him down. It was a jolting landing, and though dazed he was he was able to differentiate between the blue and purple suits of his comrades, and the pearly white suits of his foes. And before he had even landed, the sounds of chaos greeted him.

"Form up! Squad 1, veer west and keep any reinforcements off us! Squad 2, take the back line, and create a perimeter. The rest of ya, you're with me! Anything that looks like a Confederate, blow the crap out of it!"

A small force of marines were guarding the primary missile turret cluster, as well as a four Goliaths and two Vulture hover bikes. As the Sons of Korhal came storming in, the defenders formed into a defensive formation with a practiced fluid precision. All except the Vultures, they revved their engines, and went streaking back towards the main camp, circling wide and utilizing their Ion Thrusters to the limit by staying out of firing range.

"Shit," Beranger growled, "they'll be rattin' us out any minute. Better make this fast, else they'll be sendin' a welcomin' party we ain't gonna wanna meet! Come on y'all, lets clear the way!"

Logan joined the charge, but before he went barreling right down the middle into the thickest part of the hairball, he got a bright idea. He noticed several other marines, six of them, and a firebat were hanging near the rear like him. They were Antigan forces, all of whom looked very nervous and fearful. He noticed that Ernie "Bird Brain" was among them. After a quick moment to assess the situation and possible hazards, Logan decided to give it a try.

"Follow me," he shouted at them over the rising din, "We'll flank them while their busy!" The panicky rookies traded glances, but nodded, and went hustling after Logan.

The ground of the battlefield was more or less flat, so it was hard to sneak up on anyone, but there were several decent sized boulders on the southern point, so they swiftly ducked between them, trying to keep themselves concealed. It didn't really matter though, most if not all Confederates at the station were wholly fixated on holding the invaders at bay. Without delay, they found the eastern section of the turret cluster abandoned, and began advancing. They found the Confederate's, they were using the missile turrets for cover, whilst the Sons of Korhal were out in the open, having nothing to hide behind.

"Wait for my signal," Logan instructed the rookies, "Then open fire." He wasn't sure if they understood, let alone hear him over the blaring racket, but he didn't have enough time to waste on step-by-step instructions.

He aimed carefully, targeting the service hatch on the back of the nearest Goliath, as he knew that was where their central operating systems were, and fired. The steel spikes went whizzing right through the armored plate, and at once the unit began squawking an alarm with flashing red warning lights. A moment later, it blew, sending up a cloud of fire and smoke. With Logan taking the first shot, the others behind him followed suit, catching the Confederate's off-guard. Logan called out for all the marines to fire a grenade on his mark, and the group sent a salvo up at one of the turrets, which four enemy marines were crouching under for protection. The turret shorted out and blew, taking the four cowering in its shadow with it.

With the surprise attack from behind, Bennett and Beranger must have ordered an all out attack, as the whole lot of them came thundering in, guns blazing, annihilating everyone. In a few moments of this hailstorm of gunfire, the Confederates lay dead and shattered. Explosives were placed at the base of the turrets, and the group evacuated, blowing them sky high, leaving only stunted rubble behind. The three units rejoined, assessing casualties and performing an ammunition check.

"Comin' in from behind while we keep'em busy?" Bennett grinned at Logan, slapping him on the arm, "Not too shabby Stone. Maybe there's hope for ya yet."

"Yeah well, I just hope that backup of our gets here quick, because I get the feeling…" No sooner had he said that much, there came a tremor from the ground. The Confederate army came pouring over the hill to the west, soldier and technical combat devices, all aimed at the small squad of troops.

"Oh shit," someone gulped watching the impending stampede.

"Here we go boys!" Bennett hollered, lifting up his rifle and loading it, "Get ready to unload some serious whup-ass on'em!"

"Aren't we going to fall back and wait for the backup to get here?" one of the Antigan rookies beat Logan to the question.

"Son, in every situation, ya gotta learn that you're backup might not come, so ya gotta hold the line with what ya got. So we are _holdin'_ this damn line, you copy? Besides, this is the sort of shit Unit 507 does for a livin'. Right boys?" The squad-members of 507 lifted their guns, yelling and making a ruckus. All except…

"Shit," Logan was huffing under his breath, "I'm stuck in a unit with a bunch of psycho's."

"OPEN FIRE!" A wave of bullets went whistling back up towards the approaching soldiers, several of them falling with a spray of blood, others continuing their relentless charge. Further, they began to fire back; and not just the eight millimeter spines from the gauss rifles, but fragmentation grenades which exploded with a burst of shrapnel, and the twin anti-armor twenty millimeter smoothbore Autocannons of the Goliaths.

"We're getting' our asses chewed up," someone hollered, as marines began to fall

Logan kept shooting, never taking his finger off of the trigger. He was hardly even aiming, so long as he fired towards the front, he'd probably hit something. He was crouched behind a body of a compatriot, taking shots, wishing to have some sleep again before he died. He was running out of ammo, and he figured that the Goliath bearing down on his position was going to stomp a hole right through the middle of him.

But before any hole-stomping could occur, a volley of lasers came from overhead, as over a dozen Wraith fighters came swooping in, strafing the ground in front of the hard-pressed attackers. Right behind the fighters, streaking out from the clouds above, came several more dropships, a whole fleet of them actually; marines in cobalt and violet armor were already repelling out. With the arrival of such a daunting force, the Confederate's hesitated.

"Here we go ladies, time for the counterattack! All units, _CHARGE!_"

Everyone picked themselves up off the ground and went tearing up the hill, shouting and raising a fracas, perhaps to instill fear on the Confederate's. Hardly a need though, the incoming landing force was already causing them to fall back. Logan was in the thick of things, but if he had stopped and taken a break, no one would have noticed, and probably wouldn't have cared. He was mired in the middle of the force, not close enough to the front to be blow away, but far enough from the primary battle to be inconsequential. So he sauntered slowly, hanging back with the nervous rookies. Ahead there were yells and explosions thundering, the ground trembling at the razing of the Confederate outpost.

"This is Acturas Mensgk. The Confederate lines are broken; their remaining forces are in retreat. Well done everybody, we've taken another step forward in crushing the Confederacy."


	10. Sarge Is Dead

**Chapter 10:** Sarge is Dead

"I _still_ can't believe this…" Raynor was almost sulking on the transport, "I mean, I get his reasons an' all, but I just don't understand them. I don't mind rescuin' those folks out there but that slimy toad is a different story. I say we let'em rot!"

"I hear you man," Logan concurred, "If things were up to me, I'd let every last one of those Confederate cockroaches die out there."

"Do yerself a favor boys," Bennett told them, "Don't try ta understand the way the higher ups think…It's too full of political agenda jargon and bullshit. An' Mensgk is no exception. For every pretty word he talks, there's a couple that ain't so pretty hidin' under it, talkin' of an alternate program."

"What are you saying exactly?" Logan asked him warily.

"What I'm sayin' Stone is that while Mensgk talks like yer perfect freedom fighter an' all that, I doubt that he's tellin' us everything. Political types speak a lot crap that we grunts wanna hear, just to inspire us and make us go out an' die for their righteous cause more willingly."

"Don't tell me you think those Confederate's are any better! They're a bunch of lying cheating, scumbags, every last one of them!"

"Heh heh, trust me, I ain't disputin' the fact son…Hell, I guess I'd have ta have a pretty damn big hole in my head ta try an' argue that. But when someone wants ta take out the biggest government in the whole damn sector, leavin' a big gapin' hole right in the middle of things, than I'd bet my balls that there's more to that person's plan than simple revenge. An' there ain't no better way ta do it than by tryin' ta turn an enemy to yer side. If Mensgk gets Duke, he gets all them Alpha squad boys, and that'll make his little fleet here a whole hell of a lot more dangerous."

"We're approaching the LZ!" the pilot crackled over the radio, "It looks clear but move your asses. I've caught sight of tons of Zerg in the area and they might be creeping about down there."

"Okay y'all," Bennett bellowed, standing up even as the dropship was unnervingly swaying, "We're movin' out! We hit the ground runnin' boys, so don't fall behind! Let's go!"

After their victory over General Duke's Alpha Squad team at the Antigan base, the Sons of Korhal had withdrew their forces, now bolstered by the raring and ready Antigans. Open rebellion and straight conflict looked closer already. Only a few short hours later though, the Sons of Korhal communication's array picked a signal that began to run across all Confederate channels. Unlike all the others, this one was not heavily encrypted. In fact, it wasn't encrypted period. It was a distress call, being broadcast over all available comm. channels.

_"This is General Duke of the Alpha Squad flagship Norad II. We have crash-landed and are being hit hard by the Zerg. We request immediate backup from anyone receiving this signal. Repeat, this is a Priority One distress call…"_

Logan heard all of this second hand from Raynor, who was perfectly willing to let Duke get eaten alive by the Zerg, but Acturas had other plans. He ordered Raynor and some of his boys to go down, break the blockade and get Duke out of there. Everyone thought Mensgk was out of his mind, rescuing his enemy from a gruesome and well-deserved fate, but if one was too look at it logically, they would see his reasoning was sound.

A small military/civilian outpost was also around the same area as the crash site, innocent people being caught up in the whole ordeal and their rescue was part of the mission. And getting Duke to join the Sons of Korhal would be a crippling blow to the Confederate army. The only real downside to the plan would be, simply, General Duke wouldn't be dead. And that plain yet unreceptive thought put a damper on a lot of people's moods. But the order had been issued and Logan, Raynor, and 507 would be heading down to help. Reinforcements would be along behind them shortly, but their job was to keep the base standing until then.

The dropship hadn't managed to get them right into the besieged camp but they were only a little way off from it, to the southeast, perhaps a mile or thereabouts. The terrain was rocky but flat enough so Raynor could go out ahead of everyone on his bike to scout the route ahead. It wasn't long before he reported in.

"We got Zerg!" Raynor called though the radio, "Stragglers it looks like, but they're blockin' the road." Bennett ordered the pace picked up and the unit broke out into a run, rushing to catch up with Raynor. And speak of the devil, his cycle came hauling back into view from around the rocks, a small band of screeching Zerg right on his tail.

"Wax'em boys," the sergeant yelled, "and don't spare'em any pain!" At the last moment, Raynor wheeled his bike out of the line of fire, having led the eager Zerg right into the firepower of 507, and a short barrage of devastation later, they were twitching, bleeding, corpses in the dust.

"More where that came from I'm sure. Keep marchin' everyone, we need ta get to that camp pronto!" Their pace increased, the troop made their way along the winding trail, keeping their eyes open for any more Zerg surprises. Luck was on their side though, as no more ambushes were sprung and soon from across the barren plains, tendrils of smoke rising in the air were spotted. In a matter of minutes, the unit found the outpost they were looking for.

"Shit," Marcus whistled, looking over the dilapidated base camp, "This place looks like its been through hell…I think we got here a little late." For indeed, the buildings left standing looked to be in bad need of repair, several of them having smoldering fires burning nearby. Others looked dinged and torn, no doubt from claws and teeth of vicious little attackers. There was some movement in the base, a few SCV moving about, doing their best to keep the base operational. There was no sign of any sort of military presence.

"Well that means were gonna have ta make up for it. Alright," Bennett addressed his crew, spitting onto the hard ground, "All of y'all get on around the base and help out with repairs. I want that barracks up and runnin' within the hour; every last one of them fires put out, and then the lot of ya will take positions on the borders and watch for trouble. Me an' the captain will be in the command center an' begin sortin' this mess out. Move it!"

And so the restoration of the camp began, as the eleven members of 507 fanned out, looking out for anything they could do to improve the security and function of their headquarters. The barrack's generators were offline, so the combat suit assembly system and the passcode operated security locker were inaccessible, so the technical experts had to reconnect the power. All over the place were fires, some buildings smoldering with spreading flames. The majority of these were taken care of by the manual activation of the emergency incendiary extinguish system that each structure had built in. Then, there was the rigorous search for survivors throughout the whole mangled mess of the camp to keep the soldiers occupied.

Logan put some fires out, but really had little idea on how to help out with repairs and was on his way over to the northwestern bunker to offer his rifleman services when he noticed that some of the walls to the Engineering Bay were dented in, maybe from those nasty little Zerg throwing themselves against it. Though he wasn't an engineer, or a welder, an architect, a technician, or anything other than a soldier, he still tried to repair the unsightly indentations. Which wasn't saying much, he gripped the crumbled wall and began yanking it, trying to straighten it out, while beating his fist down on the welts to undo the dents.

"Yo Logan!" Logan quit yanking on the bent piece of sheetmetal and glanced behind to see Marcus trotting over; one eyebrow raised at Logan's contribution to the refurbishing efforts.

"Our reinforcements are inbound, an' I'm headin' out to meet 'em. I need ya to watch my back." All of a sudden, Logan felt like a jackass, having wasted his time with his laughable efforts, glad for the shift in priorities.

"Sure thing, the more guys' we have here, the better. I'm feeling like we're sitting ducks out here, just waiting for the Zerg to roll over us."

"Good man," Marcus slapped him on the shoulder, "Come on, we gotta move." They headed out the southeastern corridor, the same way they had entered the base, though once they exited the safety of the somewhat shaky defense perimeter, they crept, for two marines out in the harshness of the planet, if Zerg came sniffing around, they'd be in trouble.

"Where are the rest of the guys?" Logan asked, keeping his voice low, turning his head as much as he was able to scan nearby rocks and ratty trees for giant bugs lying in wait.

"I think the Sarge sent a couple of them up the road to scout out the area. Maybe trying to locate nearby Zerg bases so we know how to position our forces…Others probably are in the bunkers an' keepin' an eye out for trouble. Something tells me we're gonna get plenty of it down the road. Not to mention…" he was cut off in mid-sentence by the unmistakable sound of gunfire coming from further up the ridge, the inhuman shrieks of aliens in the air.

"Sounds like some shit is goin' down. Come on Stone, let's move!" The two went rushing out, following the din of battle until the crested a bolder pile looking down at the sight.

A group of red suited marines were standing in the center of a field of corpses. The unit was tightly packed, their backs together, facing outward, their gun barrels still smoking. All around them lay at least a dozen Zerg corpses, their bodies still twitching, their vile blood still oozing across the hard earth. Even from his perch, Logan recognized Beranger and his posse, glad some of the more formidable soldiers had been sent as back-up. He and Marcus slid down the rocks, ambling forward to make contact.

"Lieutenant Beranger!" Marcus greeted, offering a salute that Logan mimicked, "Welcome to the shithole! Glad you and your crew made it! With all the gunfire, I figured ya got jumped."

"At ease boys! An' it sure as hell wasn't no picnic gettin' out here. Zerg are all over the place, an' a crap-load of 'em tried to nail us. We'd better get to that crash site soon; else there won't be nothin' left ta rescue. Where's yer boss at?"

"Command center. He's with the captain, probably workin' on a strategy or something."

"Let's hope it's a good one. All right ladies," Beranger barked at his men, "Spread round the place, take up any positions that look lonely, don't pick no fights with Bennett's unit, and kill anything that ain't a human without hesitation."

"Does that count Duke Lieutenant?" Teddy "Sheep-Skin" asked him with a grin.

"Alright, ya got me there! Okay then, shoot anything that ain't human or a rat! Everythang else is fair game! So stay frosty and don't fuck things up. Get goin'!" His group headed out the way Marcus and Logan had come, crossing the perimeter into the semi-repaired base, looking for tasks that needed to be done. Beranger glanced over at the two before waving a hand.

"Well y'all might as well come with me. We'll see what the plan is. Come on, hustle."

"Sir," both men answered, following after the grizzled veteran.

---

---

---

"Here's the Norad II," Raynor was saying as the three walked into the command room, "And we don't got a lot of time to get over to 'em…" he glanced up, giving a grin with the appearance of the lieutenant. "Alright, back up's here. Things will be easier now." Bennett however, seemed less enthused and stepped out and directly in front of Beranger, glowering.

"Ah well, looky who finally decided to show up? Only two hours late too! What, those Zerg out there too much for ya?"

"Bite me," Beranger growled, shrugging him off and walking past, "We got here an' we're ready to kill shit. So tell me what I missed."

"The area is crawling with Zerg," Raynor was hunched over the latest Com Stat radar reading, pointing out all the blips on the screen, "An' I do mean _crawling_. We're gonna have a hell of a time busting through them to get to Duke. We got anything remotely close to a plan?"

"Well…" Bennett scowled over the radar, chewing on a cigarette like it was a piece of gum, "the terrain round here ain't pretty, lot of rocky cliffs and shit like that…Seems like there is a single corridor leadin' right into the heart of that mess though…here…" and he pointed to a wide winding canyon, the start of which was close to camp. "Course them Zerg are nestin' right in the way. So best I can figure it we charge on in there and start pushin'em back. Accordin' to the scans, there don't seem ta be that many of 'em right at the start so we'll want ta get movin' quick, lest they start buildin' their numbers up."

"Are you sure? Logan examined the screen himself, looking around the three men, "There looks to be heavier numbers there…more than us anyways." Bennett gave a scowl to Logan, probably for interrupting the strategy meeting.

"Boy, we sent a scoutin' patrol over there an' they saw only a dozen or so of the things millin' about. An' even though the scans detect _all_ lifesigns out there, don't forget that everythin' is livin' when it comes to these Zerg. Their buildin's and even that weird shit growin' under'em. Makes sense the scan's are readin' that too. So shut ya noise hole. An' like I was sayin', we charge in, set fire to the place an' don't stop pushin' till we get to the Norad II."

"Great idea," Beranger ridiculed, scoffing, "Charge in and blow'em up. How come ya ain't a general like our boy Duke out there? Why don't we just frag'em from the air, shit for brains? They can't hit what's out of their reach."

"Kiss ma ass ya old fart," Bennett grunted at him, "Ya think my head's that far up my ass? Air attack is useless; those fuckin' freaks out there got some kinda weird buildin' that tosses these balls of snot up at any aircraft that floats on by. Some sort of half-assed AA system. We go in on the ground, it's all we got right now, an' unless ya got a brighter idea, than that's what we're doin'. So shut yer ugly face an' get your little girls prepped, we'll be headin' out within the hour. Are we gettin' any more back up 'sides y'all?"

"One or two units I think…they were landin' behind us so they're probably here now."

"Good, round'em up. An' you two," he turned to Logan and Marcus, "Round up our boys and meet at the northeastern edge of camp. We got aliens ta fry."

"You got it Sarge. Come on Stone, let's shake a leg."

Despite them being scattered throughout the base, it didn't take much to find the troop. All Marcus and Logan had to do was march over to each bunker and shout out that there was Zerg killing to be had and lo and behold, out stepped a member or two of 507. A unit that was renowned for fighting and killing, it was no surprise that they sought out the bunkers after all the priority tasks were taken care of. Warriors don't have much use with fixing things up or maintaining the wellbeing of others. They were more used to breaking things and causing havoc.

Right beside them was the Troopers who arrived at their leader's call. Soon the two units, as well as some local soldiers and some more of Mensgk's men formed a ragtag platoon of formidable size. Turns out there had been some marines holding the place down ever since the Zerg arrived. Their forces had taken significant loses and their numbers had whittled down to a mere handful. All told there were eight trained marines, plus another six civilians who had been geared up to fight. They were pale and trembling, looking ready to piss and puke at the same time.

"Hold it together," Logan told them comfortingly, "No need to shit your pants kiddies." Bennett came out of the command center, Raynor next to him

"We all here? Good, then let's get to it. Let's go knock on their front door, huh?"

"Hang tight," Beranger interrupted, "I think we got a slight change of plans. I was doin' some scouting of my own an' I noticed that there's another little base of theirs on the other side of the ridge," he pointed to the northwest, "Even smaller than this one. An' the path coils around ta meet up with the main road. Y'all attack the center camp while we creep on around an' fry their little nest, then swing around an' trap'em. We'll hit'em from both sides an' they won't know what the hell ta do."

"Then get to it," Raynor , "we'll keep them occupied with our own little onslaught while you make a mess over there." Beranger nodded before jogging back to his troop and their unit started out. Bennett scowled after him, then turned to Raynor.

"Captain, as much as I'm tickled pink that ya like ta roll with us unlike most dickweed higher ups, I'd think it'd be best if ya hang back here. We can take care of the assholes, but if the base starts gettin' nailed while we're out neckin', then we're in deep shit. I'll leave some boys behind ta help ya out. Gettin' Duke won't mean squat if yer not alive after alls said an' done." Raynor thought on that, contemplating, then nodded.

"That's a point ya got right there. Though I'll sure as hell be envious of you boys. I'll get some more people together to fight if I can. You boys save some Zerg for me to annihilate late on, you hear?"

"Yes sir! Okay troops, move out!" With a slow jog the platoon moved out, following after the squad leaders, who got lucky in riding in a command jeep, coming to and entering the mouth of the shallow canyon, proceeding down it, keeping their eyes open for any attacks. They halted behind a cluster of boulders only a rifle's shot away from their target, Bennett creeping out a little ways, pulling a pair of binoculars out to scan the enemy position ahead.

"This looks like a forward camp," the sergeant chewed on his cigarette, scanning the fleshy buildings down the road, "Lightly defended, few important structures. Probably a minin' operation or somethin'."

"Ya really think these fuckin' nasty things are minin' those crystals Sarge?" Gunner asked, stroking his flamethrowers lovingly, "They're just huge ass bugs, I doubt they got the brains fer that. An' what would these freaks do with it even if they _did_ mine it?"

"Who the fuck knows? Maybe they're minin' the shit ta have sex with. I don't give a good goddamn what their doin' with it."

"Havin' sex with it," Chaz cackled, doubling over, "That's the shit boss!"

"Yeah yeah, shut it ya shaved chimp. All I'm sayin' is this base shouldn't be too tough, but it'll let'em know we're comin', so there might be some heavy resistance later on. So press'em hard right here an' now, take'em out quick an' secure the location before any more of the fuckers show up. So let's take a walk fellas. All y'all rookies, stay close behind and follow our lead. The lot of ya, spread out, form a line. Fire on my signal, then we rush'em."

The troops of marines spread out, forming a living unyielding wall reaching from one side of the ravine to the other, marines and firebats standing shoulder to shoulder and began to move together as one. They stopped outside the perimeter of the Zerg hive, just off the pulsating purple creepy growth on the ground, waiting and anxious to loose Armageddon.

"Al'ight," the sergeant yelled, raising an arm, "let'em have it boys! Rain some whupass down on these ugly sons of bitches!" The soldier's loaded their weapons, training their rifles towards their foes and began to fire.

The storm of bullets came streaking down onto the flesh buildings, puncturing them, loosing spurts of blood, their _"wounds"_ leaking out all over the place. The huge maggots that littered the purple carpet began to sluggishly squirm about, maybe trying to get out of the way, while the others squat creaures began to frantically scramble for the rear of the base, no doubt retreating. The marine force kept advancing, setting every pulsating growth of a structure alight, blasting everything that moved.

"We got'em on the run boys!" Bennett hollered, signaling to continue the forward rush, "Keep pressin' in an' give'em…"

Without warning, all over the battlefield the ground erupted in geysers of dirt and rock, as dark shadows came emerging from the soil, rising up and over and all around the invades. Though the dust, the long jutting bones and mucus-encrusted insect-like plates of Zerg were visible. And even as Bennett was half turned, giving his command to continue the attack, one of the large spine-spewing monstrosities exploded out of the ground not but a meter in front of him. And with a motion that was blurred by raw speed, one of its great scythe arms came whistling down and around.

"SERGEANT!"

Whether it was a warning or a cry of anguish, it was unclear, though regardless, it came too late to really be of consequence, as the blade ruthlessly impaled the oblivious man straight through the chest. Without pause, the beast raised the long scythe of bone, lifting it upwards, the skewered man already bleeding and limp around it, and with a single swipe, his form was split in twain by the second enormous blade.

Everyone stood stock still, as the corpse of the man went spiraling in two different directions, his insides spilling across the ground with a nerve-twisting squelch. And though they were mired in their shock, the aliens did not hesitate; two more of the large spine-shooters rushed up to attack the jeep the crew had rolled in with and the smallest creatures bounding toward the infinity. Finally, after the stupefying silence, someone acted.

_"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!"_ Daemon shrieked in fury. He lunged forward peppering the ground in front of him with bullets, taking out numerous smaller aliens, until his rifle ran dry. Quick as can be, he snagged a heavy fifty-caliber machine gun from the now mangled jeep and began to charge the demon monster responsible, firing as he ran.

"_Daemon!"_ Marcus screamed after him, even as he was holding rampaging aliens of his own at bay, dozens slithering towards him. But it did no good; Daemon's mind was too filled with red to really hear or even see. And he went barreling towards the offending alien, finger firmly on the trigger. At once, the creature's face began to fleck off, one piece at a time, it letting off a guttural howl as it writhed in pain. A few moments more, its body being pierced and mangled, it loosed a groan before crashing forward, spasming on the bloodstained earth. The murder of Bennett had been avenged, yet Daemon was far from calming down, and he turned to see more Zerg causing havoc on all of the other units.

_"I'M GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU ALL! DIE YOU NASTY FUCKERS!" _And off we went, barreling right into the middle of them spinning in circles, blasting the heavy machine gun, trying his best to kill every Zerg in every direction.

"Daemon no!"

_"FUCK YOU!"_ the enraged man bellowed, _"FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN' BASTARDS! DIE DIE DIE DIE!"_

Even as he screamed and fought like the wildman that he was, up crept another snake-like alien, hissing and gurgling its bizarre warcry, its sights set on the rampaging marine. Daemon was still strafing the little vicious monsters in front of him and never saw it coming. With a shudder, the thing fired a wave of its chest spikes, almost all of which slammed into Daemon's armor, some piercing him clear through. Blood came gushing from his mouth, as he staggered forward, still trying to cough out blistering obscenities. And even as another horde of the rampaging little monstrosities came darting in, even as he was ripped and hacked apart into tiny shreds, he never stopped firing.

Before anyone could mourn his tragic passing, a fresh horde of Zerg came pouring out of the north side of the camp and from out of the canyon further up came the whistling and shrieking cries of more hungry creatures, thirsty for blood, reinforcements inbound.

"FALL BACK!" someone screamed from the rear, "FALL BACK, FOR CHRIST SAKE!" What followed was perhaps the most unorganized retreat the unit had ever performed. It was essentially every man for himself and each soldier broke off fighting randomly, only to go scrambling back the general direction from which they had come, avoiding projectiles and pouncing aliens alike. Logan had been near the frontlines and saw Bennett and Daemon both become victims to the rampaging Zerg, and he felt a chill in his blood watching them be slaughtered. Even more so when the horde before him began to turn their attention towards the marines that were still alive, descending upon them with a brutal savagery.

When the call for withdrawal was sounded, he took them up on the offer, turning with the rest of them and hauling ass out of there. When he had a bit of cushion distance, he pivoted around, firing behind him as he ran, and he must have nailed at least one of the little suckers as he did. A slight victory for him.

He felt immensely better when he caught sight of the outer bunkers of the base and dashing past them he saw the remnants of the attack force he had just been apart of, slumped against the walls of the surrounding buildings, panting. Logan collapsed beside them, breathing deep and taking a moment to calm himself. As he did, several more men joined them, staggering in from the battlezone, anywhere from one to three at a time, many with injuries, ranging from minor to serious. Of the fifty men to leave, twenty-two of them were missing, almost half of them. Though of those lost, two seemed the most influential.

"Shit," Colt was murmuring under his breath as he sat there, blankly staring into space, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…"

Logan had caught his breath and after looking at the shocked men around him, he stole a wary glance back towards the entrance to the craggy canyon. No doubt the horrors lurking beyond would be creeping out soon to have an encore to their fun. A plan was called for, no question, yet no one else was putting forth any opinions.

"Alright…so…uh…what do we do now?"

"What the fuck are you talkin' about rookie?" Gunner snapped at him with a hateful gleam, "Did you just see what happened back there? Were yer fuckin' eyes open or what?"

Logan could have pointed out that yes, he had been present and his eyes had been wide open during the massacre, but he wasn't exactly sure what that had to do with anything. Even as he was puzzling over the response, several marines came stumbling in from the northwest, their armor bloodied and charred. It was Beranger and his Troopers, now five men short of the normal unit of twelve, looked haggard and his own suit dented and slashed all to hell, though he himself looked alright. He stole a look around, before focusing at Logan, the only marine that wasn't sprawled out in the dirt, physically or emotionally.

"An ambush…those fuckin' freaks laid out an ambush for my crew. Where the hell's Bennett? I'm gonna tear that asshole a new asshole. Charge in…shit…what a dumb fuck…" Logan saw him glaring at him, demanding an answer. He only sighed out hard, before turning an empty yet level stare at Beranger, shaking his head. The irritation in the lieutenant's experienced eyes faded and his face, previously contorted in anger, now dissolved like a clump of melting wax.

"He's dead?" Logan nodded. "Fuck me…"

"I can't believe he got killed," Chaz looked stupefied, "They got the Sarge…They…_really_ got him…"

"Yeah…" Gunner swallowed, "And Daemon too…shit…" The rest of the unit murmured in agreement, their morose attitude was something Logan hadn't seen in them before. Their normal gung-ho demeanor had given way to almost mind-numbing depression and he could hardly tell he was looking at the same bunch of lunatics that he knew them to be.

"Am I…missing something here?" he asked them, glancing from man to man, "What the fuck is wrong with you guy's?"

"What's wrong with _us_?" Burk stood up, casting a hand back towards the canyon entrance, "Well, let's see shit-for-brains. We just got our asses handed to us back there, we lost the Sarge…and Daemon…to those fucking freaks and you're wondering what's wrong with us?"

"Yeah actually, I am. I know what happened sucks…But what now?"

"There ain't nothin' now," Colt swallowed, "We lost the Sarge…Daemon too…It's over, there ain't nothin' left _to_ do."

"We pack it in," Burk said, perhaps explaining, "We tell Mensgk that if he wants his precious little Duke so bad, he can come get him himself."

Logan could only stare silently at them with a distorted face of astonishment and bewilderment, the only one amongst the men who didn't seem to be wearing a downcast face. Even Beranger and his troop looked ready to attend a graveyard party. He just couldn't believe it; he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He saw the reason, it was pretty obvious after all, but he just couldn't accept it. There just wasn't any way…

"Are you _shitting_ me?" he burst out, looking harshly at all the sullen men, "Are you _fucking_ shitting me? Are really telling me that you…all of you…are really that fucking _fragile_? Let me get this straight…You guy's are the most fucked up unit of killers, psychos, and all around berserkers in the sector, charging into any situation without even a full understanding of _what_ you're facing. Yet when your commanding officer gets fragged, you start acting like a dog that's lost both his teeth and his balls? Is that _really_ what this is?"

"Fuck you, ya runt!" Colt snarled, "You ain't got no fuckin' idea what it's like ta be in a military unit. An' ya sure as shit ain't got nothin' intelligent ta say 'bout being in the marines either1 Yer a fuckin' noob, ya ain't seen shit yet, so don't ya be dissin' us for actin' like this."

"That's true; you're right about that," Logan agreed, "I don't really know what its like to be in a close-knit unit. And I sure as hell ain't gonna deny that I'm not army material either. But from where I'm sitting, at the current moment, neither are any of you. You'd fucking think you guy's are the rookies around here, not me."

"What kind of fucking logic is that, you Zerg scrotum?" Burk growled.

"You think I'm full of shit? Then answer me this…Me and these other new guy's were sent in to fill the ranks of guy's who got killed, right? Right?!" Nods all around. "So tell me, when those four men got blown to hell, did you start acting like this?" The unit veterans glanced around at each other, "Did _Bennett_ act like this? Did he start pissing and moaning about how luck was shitting on you? Or did he just shrug it off and continue on with the mission?"

"Can't believe he's dead…" Chaz said aloud again. Logan was getting really pissed off in listening to that and felt like strangling someone.

"You can't huh? Well, you'd better start fucking believe it, he _is_ dead, and that ain't gonna change. And unless I'm mistaken, someone's got to take his place. Marcus…you were the second in command…right?" Marcus didn't seem to register the question, staring vacantly out at the stunted landscape. "MARCUS!" Finally, the dazed man looked around and gave his head a slow nod; his normal glossy dark skin had become several shades lighter. "…yeah…"

"Then start fucking acting like it! Jesus Christ. Listen, they killed Bennett and Daemon, but our job ain't done. We still got to get over to that crash site, and we don't have time to be dicking around here. So, you know what we got to do right? _Right?_" No one answered for a moment.

"What?" Malcolm asked him, being quiet. Logan threw his hands up in exasperation, wondering just how important Bennett had been to the group.

"Oh for Christ sake, do I really need to fucking tell you? Do I gotta spell it out? You guy's have done this dozens…maybe even hundreds of times before I ever showed up so you should fucking know! We're going to roll on through there again and this time, we are going to fry every last one of those motherfucking shithole aliens and piss on their corpses. We're going to send them back to Hell in the most gruesome fashion imaginable. Who's with me?" There wasn't a single favorable answer; no one even acknowledged his rousing speech. The anger that was swelling inside Logan expanded to an even greater intensity at this.

"Fuck you all then," he growl, whirling about and stomping off, aggravated to no end. He could understand that the crew had looked up to Bennett; he had been a really likeable guy, albeit a hard-ass, but he knew what was what. And he had been leading 507 for a while most likely, so a bond had been there between commanding officer and the soldiers. But to just give up so easily…he just hadn't expected such hardass guy's to come apart so simply. He didn't think they'd get choked up by something like that.

He stopped by the northwestern edge of the camp, standing there for a few minutes, breathing the anger out of his system. From where he stood, he could still smell _them_…the Zerg, their nest around the corner, their putrid mucus odor stinking the whole area out. _If they don't get their act together_, he said to himself, _then we'll be smelling them at close range when they start pouring in here…_

"Never thought I'd see that asshole get killed…" The voice sounded right next to him, though Logan was too entrenched in his own thinking to jump. It was Beranger; he was right next to Logan, also staring back towards the Zerg cluster beyond the bend, "Never thought he'd be the one that got himself killed either…" Logan could hardly remember the last time Beranger said anything to him that was shouted or harsh.

"You guy's knew each other pretty well I take it?" The hardened lieutenant nodded.

"We served in the same unit together…years ago during the Guild War. We were still kids like you, an' we fought side by side more times than I remember. War buddies, I guess ya'd say. We we're at least…"

"A bit of a falling out?"

"Somethin' like that. I got promoted an' he didn't. Then I went an' joined the Sons of Korhal, an' he got pissed 'bout it. Probably cause I didn't ask him ta join too. Hard ta say…an' I guess I'll never get the chance again. I'm sure gonna miss arguing with that stupid jackass." He fell quiet, chewing on his lip, contemplating. "The real problem is yer unit. Without Bennett, 507 is…well, it's gonna need someone new ta take command, though it sure as shit won't be the same."

"I know, but hopefully Marcus is ready to take the title and keep that tradition going."

"The dark fella? Heh heh…" he trailed off, chuckling. The sound of laughter sounded foreign to Logan, and he turned a questioning eye towards the older man.

"You know, I may just be a rookie here, but I wasn't aware that this situation warranted _anything_ humorous."

"Well, to be honest kid, despite what the chain of command may have been, I think you just stole the title right out from under him."

"Huh?"

"Don't act dumb boy. They were almost bawlin' in the aftermath an' you were the only one who had any guts to do somethin' beside sit there and sulk with your hand up your ass. The way I saw it, yer the more likely of candidates than the rest of 'em to take command."

"Oh no," Logan shook his head vigorously, perhaps to ward off the implication, "I just stepped up to slap some sense into everyone. Marcus can handle things from here, I got faith in him. Besides, I've been in the unit for only about two weeks. Hell, I've only just seen real combat in the last two weeks. A green rookie stepping up to be the leader of the most savage military unit? I don't think so."

"Maybe not, but times got a way of fixin' things like that an' twistin' the world right on around. Ya get a little experience under yer belt then…who knows? Sometime down the road, ya might get promoted ta general like Dukey-boy."

"An interesting thought, Lieutenant, but somehow I won't hold out much hope of that. I doubt that I'm officer material."

"Oh bullshit son. Ya are definitely smarter than the average grunt out here, no two ways 'bout it. Ya got a knack for sniffin' out ambushes an' comin' up with some cunnin' ass schemes. We need shit like that now."

"You guy's got along fine before without it."

"Times are changin'. It used ta be that simply chargin' the enemies camp with raw determination was enough to win battles. But things are different now. That moronic plan may work against people…people are stupid and scare easily…but it sure as shit ain't gonna work against these fuckin' things. They don't run and they ain't stupid. Strategy might be an asset. You think on that boy…Come on, let's get back and whip our babies back into shape. We got some fuckin' aliens to nuke."

Logan nodded and hiked back to the disconsolate pile of flesh and metal that was the remnants of the infantry attack force.

"Are we feeling better now children?" he asked them, looking over their sulking faces.

"Kiss my ass, douchebag," came from somewhere inside the cluster of marines.

"I see…Look, I guess I just got a little pissed back there…I know you guy's really admired Bennett and everything and you got shocked. Daemon too, he was a good guy. But we can't be sitting here all day with the Zerg right over the horizon, so you guy's need to face the facts here. As great as those two were, they _weren't_ gods…it's not like they were the only people who made up the whole unit, or to make the impossible possible. You guy's are just as tough as you've always been even without them. And I'd think you'd all jump at the opportunity to get even with those alien bastards."

He quit speaking and waited, hoping that thoughts of revenge might spark action from their normally blood-thirsty minds and free them from the gloomy state of hopelessness. No one responded, the marines stared down at the dirt, glancing among one another, and Logan began to feel like he, his unit, the whole camp, and Duke somewhere out there in the infested landscape were fucked, and fucked good. But finally, against all odds it seemed, Marcus pushed himself up, standing, his face pensive and expressionless.

"Listen up boys," Marcus mustered what vigor he could, straightening up and putting the deepest scowl that he had on his dark face, "We may feel lower than shit right now, but Stone here's got a point. So we're gonna do exactly what the man said. Those asswipe motherfuckers just took two of our own…Are ya gonna sit there an' let'em get away with it?"

"Well…" Malcolm answered slowly.

"We sure as hell _ain't!_ We're gonna peel their flaky-ass skin from them an' use'em as sheets for our beds. We'll grind those slimey bodies of theirs up, an' feed'em to the fucking hogs. They won't outlive the day they fuckin' messed with 507, so grab some ammo, we're going back in there! This time, with no fear."

"But Marcus," Colt argued, "We just did _that_ an' we lost two of our best…Hell ol' man Beranger over there lost five of his sissies too."

"Keep laughin' asshole," Beranger growled.

"All I'm sayin' is, we tried it an' we got nowhere. What makes ya think we're gonna do any better this time?"

"Because this time we're not going to charge in like mindless apes driving bulldozers," Logan informed them, "This time, we'll have a better plan than simply "kick their assess."

"Easy enough for you to preach," Gunner shrugged him off, "But the Sarge was the one that came up with our plans…so how do you _plan_ on coming up with somethin'?"

"Well if someone will _finally_ listen to me," Logan grunted, though he wore a somewhat crafty smile, "I might be able to help with that. I'm part of this unit after all, for better or worse it seems, and its time to show you guy's that I have my own skills, and I'm not just the pretty boy. So…do we have any volunteers to go rescue the Norad II and annihilate some seriously ugly Zerg fuckers?"

The silence that gathered was thick indeed, as the remaining marines all sat, brooding and thinking. Finally Burk pushed himself up, hefting his rifle back into his hands, checking his ammunition and slapping a new clip in with a wincing click.

"Let's go fucking kill them…"


	11. Recruitment Drive

**Author's Note: Yo yo y'all! I've beat my head against the wall for taking so long to post something new on this story. I'm hoping that this chapter will be the beginning of my triumphant return. No promises, as Life and Work do rudely intrude upon such things. To sorta make up for my laziness, I'm delivering this chapter, which I believe is the longest yet for this story. It's also chock full of a ton of new stuff, good plot and some hopefully convincing and humorous dialogue. And I'm hoping it's as acceptable as the rest of the chapters. If not, let me know and I can make some revisions. Let's see……anything else? Ah yes. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 11:** Recruitment Drive

The jeep roared across the hard gritty dirt, its engine howling as it maneuvered down the gaping trenches of the ravine, swerving to avoid rocks and other large debris. Skidding to a halt after just rounding a corner, it stopped and sat. There before it lay the vile smelling camp belonging to the murdering aliens, as isolated and quiet as before. How positively misleading.

Despite knowing that there were perhaps dozens of the hateful fuckers lurking just below the surface, ready to spring forth at a moments notice like the universe's most hideous jack-in-the-boxes, the jeep revved it's engine hard and with a squeal of its tires, it went tearing right into the heart of the beast's lair at full speed, its sights aimed on the cluster of creatures busy chomping on the valuable cobalt crystals from the earth.

It rolled around the base, ramming into anything that got in its path, circling the perimeter once, twice, and a third time, tires kicking up clouds of dust, its rampage sending the worker drones scuttling for cover, attempting to hide and escape being crushed.

With a ground-shaking ferocity, the Zerg emerged from their underground dens, rearing up and loosing their guttural howls of battle, turning towards the interlopers that had entered their domain. The larger of them opened up their chest cavities and easily a dozen salvo's of bony needles when streaking towards the jeep, slamming into its sides, puncturing the heavy tread of its tires causing the already swerving vehicle to lose its balance, sending it rolling and rolling, jostling its insides but good. It came to a rest with a groan of aching steel, its engine cutting out, leaving the dust to settle, blanketing the silence that followed.

The Zerg advanced with practiced menace, looming over the shredded vehicle, waiting for the occupants, if any still lived, to crawl out in a daze. Their gruesome deaths would follow shortly by savage dismemberment. Yet after a few moments, nothing happened. No stunned humans came tumbling out of the wreck.

They crept closer, sniffing the air, trying to smell past the overwhelming stench of fuel and oil, leaking all over the ground. A look through the pulverized windshield would yield a small screen, which was flashing lustrous red symbols.

---

7………6………5………4………3………2………1………Bye-Bye Motherfuckers…

---

The subsequent blast that followed was devastating, as the jeep and anything that stood close to its proximity was suddenly vaporized in a raging torrent of flames, exploding out and consuming everything around it within one hundred yards, leaving naught but charred flesh, singed bone, and a few pieces of twisted melted metal, dropping from above like dainty snowflakes. Many of the Zerg structures were still aflame, its defenders blown away, those that remained lay stretched on the ground, suffering from nearly every sort of injury imaginable, squirming, groaning, trying to continue their function.

"FIRE!" Logan bellowed, rising up from the lip of the ravine, looking down on the Zerg camp and pointing his own gun to the enemy remnants below. And beside him rose ten other marines, their own weapons pointed down, opening fire. Across the way, on the other side of the cliff, another squad of marines rose as well, joining the foray, blasting their rifles down from above.

Further, from out of the ravine, straight from the marine's base camp, half a dozen firebats with another few marines as escort, came charging in from the ground, setting fire to everything that lay in their path. Now devoid of any combat capable defenders, there was no true fight. Any standing Zerg was cut down in seconds and a combination of rifle-launched grenades and flamethrowers soon set fire to the rest of their base, reducing it to crispy piles of corpses and shriveled mucus.

"A remote controlled jeep packed with an assload of explosives huh?" Gunner speculated as he and the rest of his squad slid down the steep sides of the ravine to stand amidst the carnage of their fallen foes, "Not bad Stone. You're smarter than ya look."

"Yeah," Colt spat, though despite not sounding thrilled he wore a sideways grin, glancing over at the rookie, "But I'm prettier than him, so I come out on top."

Logan was pleased his first idea worked. The plan had been his yet Quentin Bullock, one of the other rookies of 507 had been the one who took care of the majority of things. He was a computer whiz but also had some technical skill and with little trouble, he and Marcus were able to hook up the jeep's steering and control systems to a handheld remote. With that done and after its storage compartments were filled with some compressed explosive blasting materials, the remote was put into Colt's (The Iron Horse) hand, and he ran that sucker ragged, crashing into anything that moved. And finally, Gunner, who had demanded to have the honor, hit the detonator that initiated the countdown that blew those aliens straight to hell.

"Maybe," Logan shouldered his rifle, shrugging over at Colt, "Prettier in a fucked-up in the head kind of way."

"Bite me, ya smartass little prick. But with them Zerg outta the way, looks like we can keep on marchin'. Guess ol' Duke might got a slim chance after all."

"Which is a cryin' shame if ya ask me," Beranger joined the marines, kicking dead Zerg parts from his path. "But that's what the boss wants, so that's what we're gonna do. Speaking of which, we ain't done yet, so when y'all are finished suckin' each others dicks, then maybe we can move out."

"Roger," Marcus reloaded his rifle, calling in the milling soldiers. "Alright y'all, we're headin' up the canyon path north of here. Any Zerg ya see, make'em dead!" Before moving out, Marcus switched on his suit's comm. system and called, "Alright, the area's been sanitized, bring'em in!"

From around the corner of rocks, leading back to the marine's base, several more soldiers came hustling, leading a small team of SCV's. The soldiers fell into line with a salute, whilst the workers scanned the terrain.

"Okay boys," Marcus barked at them, "the pest control crew's done their job, now I need y'all ta build us up a command post double quick. We can't keep runnin' back ta the main base every time we need somethin'."

"Right away sir," the leader nodded, before ordering his crew to the task. With the destruction of the Zerg, the repulsive purple flesh that covered the ground like some mutated all-encompassing blanket began to decay, exposing the hard normal earth underneath, clearing room for a proper building site. As they began construction, Marcus stationed several marines around the perimeter, warning them to keep their eyes open.

"Hopefully them Zerg won't feel like droppin' in fer dinner until we got us a defense line going…"

"Sir!" one of the militia soldiers on the outer cluster of the group began waving his arms in an attempt to get noticed, "Our recon team is coming back." Marcus turned, craning his next over the throng of his soldiers, catching sight of the six man recon team he had dispatched.

"About fuckin' time too. Okay, stand back an' let'em through boys." The crowd parted, letting the six huffing men through to Marcus, who was pretty much the man in charge now.

"Al'ight," Marcus gave his hand a wave, signaling the scout team to fall in, "Recon, what'd ya got for me?"

"More Zerg sir," the leader of the squad bluntly stated, "we encountered several smaller roaming groups outside another camp further up the ridge, this one even bigger than the last one. And they ain't even tryin' to hide their numbers either; tons of the ugly bastards just millin' around, probably waitin' for us to stroll on in."  
"I see…An' the patrols ya saw?"

"Burnt to a crisp, with a side order of fries."

"Shit man," Johnny grumbled, "How many of these nasty fucks are there?"

"Ah, that just means more for us to fuckin' frag," Gunner answered, "Just so long as we don't do any more stupid shit and we're the ones that end up dead."

"Any ideas Stone?" Marcus glanced Logan's way, eyebrow raised.

"Hmm," Logan mused, a simple little smile on his face.

---

---

---

The jeep swerved around the final outcropping of rocks, coming to rest, its dimly lit headlights spearing towards the camp. It sat for a moment, its idle engine rumbling as if anticipating the chaos to come. Then it lunged forward, tires shrieking as it rocketed into action, taking dead aim at the clustered Zerg.

However, seeing the incoming threat, the aliens scattered, getting well out of its range and scuttling in all directions as the vehicle came roaring through. On two passes, it barely clipped even a single Zerg, they diving from its path before they were crushed under it.

Suddenly several of the smaller Zerg came rushing in from nowhere, throwing their combined weight against the side of the rampaging vehicle with enough force to flip it. The jeep began to roll, sailing right off the side of the canyon, crashing down the jagged cliffside. Somewhere along its fall one of the many jolts of impact must have been a bit too much for suddenly there was an enormous explosion which sent a shower of rocks and dust all over the place, blanketing the Zerg base in a shroud of airborne dirt. With the interloper disposed of, the Zerg went slithering and crawling back to their original positions, continuing their otherwise motionless vigil.

From a secondary remote command post stationed westward across the plateau, the marines of the Sons of Korhal watched as the video feed from the bumper mounted camera vanished into a blanket of static and the explosion was heard in real time, echoing its way through the jagged hallways of rocks.

"Well fuck," Quentin commented sourly, looking at the static-filled screen, "That's just goddamn perfect. Really fucking beautiful to see all those explosives go to waste by _not_ killing those goddamn bugs." Logan however was quiet, his mind reeling at what he had just seen. Finally he spoke.

"That clinches it then," he concluded, pulling back from the monitor, stretching his hands behind his head.

"What the hell that's supposed ta mean?" Beranger demanded, "Clinches what? That you ain't got no fuckin' clue as to what yer doin'?"

"It means that I wanted to see something for myself and when those Zerg knocked that jeep aside before it blew them to holy hell, I got the answer I was looking for."

"Ya mean you were expectin' 'em ta do that?" Colt asked suspiciously. "Ya wanted'em to blow that jeep up before it could blast the fuck out'em?"

"Well personally, I would have preferred it if it _had_ toasted the lot of them. But after everything I have seen them do so far, I had to confirm whether or not they'd let the same thing that killed them before happen to them a second time. And because they didn't, it means one thing. The Zerg have proven to be smarter than brainless animals. Hiding underground, scout teams, even their choices of locations where their base camps are situated are wise decisions. I wanted to see exactly how smart they were and now I've got my answer, as do you all." He turned and faced them, his expression serious. "They learn…and they don't fuck around with it either. If something comes along and makes them dead, then they're wary of it in the future."

"So, they're smart bugs," someone grunted, "Big fuckin' whup!" At that, Logan loosed a sigh, shaking his head. He scanned the faces of the marines.

"You're not really getting it, are you? We're not fighting mindless drones that are too stupid to know what's going on. And we're not fighting against people, soldiers that panic and lose their nerve if things take a turn for the worst. The tactic of "rolling in and blowing the fuck out of them" isn't going to do shit here. There's probably fifty of those things for each of us and not only that, they don't have the same view towards their forces as we do. From what I've seen, they don't seem to have any qualms about throwing their lives away, their fighters being as expendable as toilet paper."

"So" Johnny began counting his fingers, "there's more of em' than us, they're crazier than us, an' they probably got more brains than most of us put together…So what the hell are we supposed to do to beat'em?"

"We outsmart them. They learn and they comprehend shit, but I doubt that they're fucking geniuses. As long as we stay creative and cunning, we can blow the fuck out of them and squash them like oversized roaches. Not to mention that save for those big spine-shooting things, they're close range attackers, meaning we've got the advantage of range."

"So what?" Beranger crushed out a cigarette before picking up his rifle, "Do ya got a plan or don'tcha?"

"I might, but first I need to know what kind of weapons do we have access to at the moment?"

"Not a lot," Marcus rooted around the command post, looking through some data disks, finding a listing of all available armaments. "The outpost ain't exactly got a lot of tech, so we're sorta lackin'. Though I was on the horn with Raynor while y'all were fixin' that second jeep up an' he told me that some reinforcements were sent down by Mengsk, so we can even the odds. Repairs have finished on the barracks, so we should be getting a few new recruits out here pretty soon. Also an academy an' weapon factory has been completed, so that mean's a bit more firepower. But _when_ we'll get it…that's the trick. Let me call the main base an' see if I can't get some more help out here."

"Tell them to hurry it up," Logan urged him, "I don't know shit about these Zerg and for all we know, that stunt with the jeep might have pissed them off enough to come out and play. The first batch never had a chance to retaliate but…just tell them to get the lead out."

After having scorched the first Zerg base, the whole platoon was eager to move on and wreck some more destruction on the Zerg. They left the SCV's to their building, appointing several of the most inexperienced soldiers to stay behind and guard the construction site, before they continued on their trek. They found a steep trail on the north side that led out of the ravine they were traversing, leading them up to the plateau above. Along the way, a few random Zerg scuttled out of the brush to challenge the force but were promptly turned into vile smelling fertilizer. And from there, directly east of their current position the second Zerg camp, larger than the first, situated right on the edge of the canyon.

Here Marcus had called in another building team to assemble another small outpost for their front line operations. Nothing too extravagant; two bunkers had been placed, watching for any Zerg movement, as well as a rough hewn command tent.

As for a plan of attack, that was still being sorted out. With as many Zerg as the recon team had reported, their standing force wouldn't be enough to wipe them out. Not to mention that the old exploding jeep ruse wasn't going to help them a second time. Strategy is a critical asset in war but when you're really outgunned, sometimes the best thing to turn the tides of battle is having a lot more soldiers than the opposition. So for the moment, they merely sat and waited.

Most of the militia men stood quietly, residents of the camp nearby and several rookies from other bases, their faces pulled tight with nervousness, they hovering close to one another, their jumpy faces resembling a herd of antsy cattle. Beranger stalked among the remains of his unit, grumbling and cursing at how he had lost five of his men to "Goddamn shit-eating bugs".

Among the survivors were Teddy "Sheep-Skin" and Harvey "Shark Bite", having weathered the surprise attack. The 507 crew hung clustered together by the command post oddly enough, rather than all but hanging on the defense line. They were unusually quiet, not going on about blowing this up or shredding that up, or counting how many Zerg each of them killed. Logan sat with them, knowing that the loss of their commander was a blow that wasn't going to be forgotten so easily.

Eventually Marcus stepped out and joined them, sitting heavily atop an ammunition crate, checking around for a cigarette.

"Any word?" Logan asked, to which Marcus gave a downcast shrug.

"Sorta. I don't know. These Zerg were hittin' that camp hard for a while an' only after we showed up could they start puttin' things together again. They're almost out of resources an' I'm willing to wager that their primary concern is ta make sure the whole place don't fall apart. Course if they don't get us some backup right quick, then the Zerg will tear _us_ ta pieces an' then go right back ta shreddin' the base, so I told them ta get their heads outta their asses an' ta get their priorities straight. Raynor was tryin' ta sort'em out."

"Goddamn," Burk grunted, looking his usual dour self, "Trusting our lives to spineless colonist; this day is the shits, I swear."

"An understatement," Malcolm rumbled.

"Well at least all of your _cheery_ attitudes are making the day a little brighter," Logan informed them wryly.

"Fuck off," Colt growled, "Everyone deserves ta be a little outta sorts every once in a while…"

"Out of sorts?"

"That's what I said. Look, we're the baddest of the bad Stone; we're the guy's that could bomb an entire enemy complex ta ashes an' walk away like we just had a fuckin' picnic. We're the ones who do the asskickin' round here. But just look at us. We lost the Sarge an' Daemon; we're gettin' our asses handed to us by some smelly ugly alien freaks. It's like…everything we've ever done up ta this point…it don't count for shit no more. We're just as helpless as those snivelin' rookies. An' it just burns me up."

"I must say," Logan admitted, "I'm surprised…I never thought I'd meet a group of insane killers who were so psychologically complex. I always thought that if you guy's were slaughtering bad guy's, never mind who or what, you were happy."

"True," Malcolm agreed.

"But that don't mean we're mindless," Gunner added, "Even we'll get knocked through a loop by somethin' now an' then."

"I guess…You've been thrown into a whole different ballgame and it's disconcerting to see your usual tactics to be rendered useless. However, to just throw down your weapons and say, "It's hopeless," is not a good way to get around that."

"We aren't going down without a fight," Burk assured aloud, not necessarily directing his guarantee towards Logan, "If they want us dead, then they're going to lose a whole hell of a lot of their cronies to do it."

"They're coming!" a scream cut the settling quite, _"They're coming!"_ At once, all the brooding soldiers leapt up.

"Ah fuck," Marcus cursed, seizing up his gun and looking all over, "Where the hell are those reinforcements? Come on, to the line!" Unit 507 went crashing out towards the sounds of combat, men screaming in horror and scattered inconsistent gunshots. The rest of the infantry fell in with them, running up behind the bunkers to lend their aid, taking a good look at their enemy.

A tidal wave was approaching, a living writhing barrage of grotesque demonic aliens was pouring towards them, the ground trembling beneath their charge, numbers beyond counting. Their force covered the entirety of the plateau, sweeping along it like some nightmarish deluge.

"Holy shit!" an untrained marine shrieked, quaking in terror.

"Blow'em away boys!" Marcus shouted, "Send'em back ta Hell in pieces!"

With a deafening burst of thunder, the contingent of soldiers opened fire, launching an artillery bombardment which slammed into the first wave with satisfying effect; the Zerg crumpling under the punishment, forcing the rest to swarm over their wounded and slain comrades with out so much as a pause.

And any that made it in close enough were blasted hard by the squad of firebats, bathing the area beyond the bunkers in a sea of roaring flames. Yet despite the storm of bullets and the unyielding inferno, they were pushing forward, gaining ground, the concentrated firepower just wasn't enough to stop such an immense horde dead in their tracks.

They kept coming, closing the distance, soon within reach of the bunkers, the smaller ones beginning to rend the metal asunder as the huge serpentine ones slashed with their scythe claws and launching wave after wave of spines. The bunkers flew open, the marines stationed inside spilling out, screaming and beating each other to escape first. Others began to back away slowly, firing but retreating from the front. And even more dropped their weapons, turned tail and went sprinting for cover. Those that did neither were ruthlessly cut down with a frenzied savagery.

_"HOLD!"_ someone somewhere bellowed over the din, _"HOLD THE LINE!"_

Logan stood in the middle of this massacre, staring at a collective lurid mass of infernal fiends snarling and howling in fury. Any Zerg that got close to him were blasted but. All around him, he saw men falling to panic and being cut down. A young colonial man named Richard Elkerson stood frozen when his gun ran dry and did nothing as a towering serpent came gliding up and slashed the hapless man in two at the stomach. Logan focused himself, hanging together with his unit, trying to convince himself that Hell itself would probably be far less terrifying than this horror.

The marines kept shooting even as their feet propelled them backward. The Zerg fell and more came, pouring across the ground in a torrential flood of claws, teeth, and screams; crawling over their dead and wounded, rushing, straining to reach the humans, oblivious to whizzing bullets or the scorching flames. They were relentless.

Then came the cavalry. From nowhere several large projectiles went sailing over the heads of the marines, crashing into the ranks of the swarming Zerg, blasting their formation to pieces, as parts of them were blow off and went spiraling away in every conceivable direction. Following that, a roaring chorus of high-powered turrets sounded, as a barrage of new bullets slammed into the sides of the aliens, puncturing them with all new gaping holes.

The Zerg's focused assault was shattered; they began scrambling around, trying to identify and engage this new unseen threat through all the chaos. With aid on their side, the pressed defenders ceased their retreating and pushed forward, retaking lost ground, blasting anything that looked like an oversized cockroach. Soon the enemy numbers became countable once more and kept dropping rapidly, until eventually, all Zerg were blown away.

Though even after the last Zerg fell to the dirt bleeding, the shooting went on for another half a minute, as many of the corpses were still twitching in their death spasms. One gun after another went silent as the onslaught drew to a close, leaving naught but another ravaged ichor-soaked battlefield in its wake. Only after the dust had settled did the survivors look around to discover the source of their salvation.

With a purring of hydraulics, in marched seven Goliath walkers, their twin thirty millimeter auto-cannons still smoking. Screeching to a halt beside them were four vulture hovercyles, not quite as tricked out as Raynor's custom bike, but still pretty bad-ass. And speaking of Raynor, up he came, leading another small group of marines and firebats who were loping along behind him, eighteen all told.

"Hope y'all ain't stealin' all the fun," he gave them a grin, stepping off his hog, "I heard a bit of a ruckus back aways and thought I'd bring a couple of friends along to the party."

"Well I hope your pals brought the beer," Gunner wiped a mixture of dirt, sweat, and alien blood from his face, "All this Zerg killin' makes a man thirsty."

"Sorry we were fresh outta beer, but we got plenty of bullets."

"Even better," Beranger stepped up, scanning the newest addition to the squad, "An' I know just who ta use'em on."

"Thanks fer bailin' us out Captain," Marcus gave Raynor a salute, "We were gettin' creamed here. But with our new toys, I'd say our odds just went up a bit. In fact, I'm feelin' like a little payback."

"Then get saddled up," Logan joined them, rifle already reloaded and ready, "we're going in now."

"Who are you ta be givin' orders now boy?" Beranger shot him a dirty look, "I don't see no insignia on yer armor." Before Logan could answer, Raynor looked over the tired marines that had just survived the assault of Zerg.

"You sure you boys are good to go already? You just had a hell of a fight."

"Did you see how many Zerg they sent," Logan asked the group, before pointing towards the veritable wall of Zerg corpses stacked across the plateau, "That was a shit load of bugs and now they're dead. They can't have that many left in their base after an attack of that size, which means its now lacking in defenders, which means now's the time to rush in there and frag them before they can replenish their numbers."

"How could they get their numbers back up so quick?" Marcus asked skeptically.

"Look I'm not exactly an expert on alien anatomy alright, I don't know if they can or not; I'm just speculating. What I _do_ know is that it's stupid as shit to not take this opportunity to hit them while their vulnerable."

"Hell," Raynor nodded, "He's got me convinced. Let's head over there and see what they got left."

The brutal attack had dealt extensive damage; before there had been thirty-seven marines at the command post, a sizeable force. And in the aftermath, only nineteen still stood, mainly consisting of the veterans and the cowards who had taken flight in the face of almost certain annihilation.

The new force rallied behind the three leaders, Marcus, Beranger, and Raynor, converging into a substantial platoon of infantry and mechanical firepower.

They picked their way through the new ravine made entirely of Zerg corpses, the marines warily glancing from one to the next, expecting the aliens to spring to life and continue their bloody campaign. But no, the assortment of carcasses was silent and still, having slithered and maimed their last.

They didn't have to travel far, as after a brisk jog and rounding a bend; there lay the second encampment of the bugs, more expansive than the last with all new, never before seen _buildings_. The only movement that could be seen were the oblivious drones, going back and forth with sheared off minerals clamped in their jaws. Several of the fighting Zerg were present, though an almost harmless amount, all of the stationary and sticking close to the structures.

"Looks quiet al'ight," Marcus concluded, sizing up the inhabitance. He started to rise, ready to signal the charge when Beranger seized him and yanked him back down.

"Ger yer head outta ya butt boy! Did ya forget already?" Marcus gave him a bewildered and somewhat blank stare.

"They bury themselves," Logan reminded him, "They hide out underground, waiting for lunch to stroll by. But…" he glanced at them both, "They don't bury themselves too deep. If I'm not mistaken, a ComSat sweep will pick up any hidden surprises of theirs, giving us a heads up."

"How in the hell do ya know that?" Beranger demanded suspiciously.

"When we were planning our first attack, you all were checking a ComSat reading of their first base. And I made a comment that there seemed like an awful lot of signatures for such a small base. What that scan saw was buried Zerg. If we scan in there beforehand, we'll know what we face before we face it."

"Good call," Raynor agreed and got on the horn, calling back to the home base and calling for a satellite sweep ASAP. Before long a readout returned, unveiling the fact that there were indeed buried Zerg out there, though not many, a few scattered here and there.

"Looks like they really are outta firepower," Beranger surmised.

"Motherfucker," Johnny breathed out, looking disgusted. He then pointed. "Take a look at _that_…"

Around what looked to be the largest structure in their little hive were large fleshy looking sacks, crisscrossed with bulging veins, a mass of tissue and pus quivering and pulsating. After a minute or two, it began to quake violently as something inside of it began to struggle and before long claws and hooks began puncturing the soft exterior. Worming its way from one was two of those vicious little four legged types and from another, one of the larger spine shooters. They emerged, shaking viscous fluid from their bodies before slithering off to fill the gaps in their encampment. Scattered elsewhere were more of the fleshy eggs, no doubt more Zerg within, just waiting to burst free. The sight made many of the marines pale.

"Jesus Christ," someone gulped, "They're fuckin' growin' themselves…What kind of fuckin' aliens are these?"

"Don't know an' don't care," Marcus answered, rising up, "But I'm not gonna sit here an' let'em come back again. All forces, charge! Get in there and wax'em all!" With a growl of mechanized joints the Goliaths stepped to the front, the Vulture's right beside them, engines screeching. They stormed forward, the infantry right behind, not even waiting to get close before beginning to fire. With the sound of incoming enemies, all the defenders went rushing out, the buried Zerg emerging to do battle. Their efforts were wasted; all of them were cut down long before they had a chance to retaliate.

With the encampment now lacking defenders, the attack force spread throughout the site, torching and blasting all the structures, razing the place to ashes with wild savage looks, their own attack almost mirroring the same relentless viciousness that the Zerg had often demonstrated. Revenge was the fuel behind their ruthless barbarism and with it driving them, there was soon nothing left of the Zerg along the plateau but corpses and burnt ooze.

"Where the hell is that fuckin' ship?," Johnny grumbled after the melee ended, sending a irritated scowl over the Zerg remains, "If we gotta keep goin' through much more of this crap ta get there then I say we call it quits an' tell Duke so long."

"Shouldn't be much further," Raynor checked over a computer readout of the surrounding terrain, "From here we head south an' it shouldn't be more than a mile or two."

"Of course that mile or two might go quick or it might be a pain in the ass," Beranger growled, "Dependin' if the road's been occupied by…" he stomped down on a Zerg's skull, crushing it with a satisfying crack, "More of these asswipes."

"An' we're 'bout ta find out," Marcus pointed, as three marines came hustling up the hill towards the ruins of the alien base. They came jogging up, save one man who came limping.

"Sir!" the three man scout team leader called, "We found the crash site. But we got a small problem…"

"Ah fuck," Marcus groaned, "Lemme guess…more bugs?"

"Well…kinda. The Norad II is sittin' in a big ol' ditch of a crater 'bout a mile south of here and surroundin' the area round it are more of them Zerg buildings, but these kind are…different."

"That's awfully vague soldier. Different _how_?"

"Well, when we first saw'em, we laid low, checkin' the area for more Zerg, thinkin' they might another ambush nearby. But there wasn't none around. So we were walkin' out to inspect'em an' when we got close ta'em, they…well, attacked us."

"Hold up there boy," Beranger interrupted, narrowed his eyes, "A buildin' came ta life an' attacked ya?"

"Yes sir. The one closest to us began movin' an' shot this huge tentacle thing inta the ground. Then before ya know it, Private Rodriguez here began screamin'. We look over an' the same tentacle thing had popped up an' attacked him."

"Yeah," the wounded marine gulped, clutching his leg, "Damn thing came outta nowhere, it was sheer luck that it didn't get a direct hit, it only grazed me." So saying he removed his hand, showing off a jagged deep slice on his armor, his bare leg visible beneath the gash.

"Jesus," Teddy "Sheep-Skin" gaped, "That from a graze? It cut right through those reinforced plates… How the hell can a buncha flesh-bags cut through metal like that?"

"Well they can," Beranger snapped at him, "so deal with it. How many of these things Private?"

"A whole fuckin' field of'em sir. I'd say…maybe a dozen."

"Looks like we aren't done yet," Logan sighed, beginning to feel fatigue from the constant combat. "But if we only got a mile to go, then we're at the home stretch. No point in stopping here. Let's finish this."

"Yep yep," Harvey "Share-Bite" agreed, "An' any weird Zerg buildin' sends a tentacle after me, I'll grab hold an' yank that sucker right outta the ground!"

So the entire force turned their faces south and began to march, on the lookout for attacking buildings, as bizarre a concept as it was. Following a small worn trail down from the plateau, the recon team had them stop, before pointing out the perpetrator of their assault.

They were actually tricky to spot; they were a dark color, shaped like disks, stretched out low across the rocks. The group came to a halt and stood, watching for any activity. Nothing, the disk or whatever it was, didn't even twitch. One marine got a bright idea, bent down, grasped a good sized rock and chucked it out towards the thing. The moment it landed the edifice sprang to life, a long tendril membrane shot out from the center, dove underground and seconds later, came piercing back to surface, its finely tapered point skewering the rock into fragments.

"Goddamn those things can cover some distance," Raynor commented, "That's one hell of a defense."

"Proceed slowly," Marcus instructed the men, "Attack those fuckin' things one at a time; concentrate all firepower on one, frag it, then move on to another. If ya get wounded, fall back to the rear."

The following work was tedious and aggravating, as there was a whole cluster of those defense growths and they had chilling range with their tendrils. The men peppered them from afar, all the while rolling and diving out of the way of the spine that kept shooting up from underneath their feet like an unpredictable geyser that couldn't make up its mind on where to vent. They took a lot of punishment to destroy but the extra oomph from the Vultures and Goliaths made things go quicker. Soon the first exploded in a squelching cloud of blood and torn flesh, followed by another, then two more; and with each building razed the squishy purple membrane underfoot began to wither and shrink.

Regardless of the difficulties, their advance proceeded and little by little the Zerg defenses were annihilated. Then they came across something new; another structure, though this one didn't attack them. It looked like a fleshy smoke stack, a chimney sticking up into the air, doing nothing but sitting, pulsating, and dripping pus.

"I got it," Quentin snapped his fingers in recognition, "these were their AA weapons…or something like'em, hurling mucus at any passing aircraft. If we're gonna evac anyone outta here, then we're gonna have to burn these things to the ground."

"How about we make it easier?" Logan suggested, "Let's go with: if it looks Zergish, then blow the fuck out of it." Which is what was done; any building or small clusters of Zerg were instantly brutalized, leaving the area sterilized of the alien's presence. As for finding their objective, that became increasingly easier, as all one needed to do was follow a clearly visible black cloud of smoke rising up over the craggy hills. And finally after much death and devastation, the members of the Son's of Korhal found what they were looking for.

"Holy friggin' shit," Cyrus whistled, "Now _that's_ a crash if I've ever seen one."

For indeed, the Norad II, the glorious flagship of Alpha Squadron was sitting deep inside of a monstrous still smoking crater, looking no better than a sprawling hunk of scrap. Its nose was buried deep under the loose soil, its forward laser batteries scattered all over the place having snapped like twigs on impact, and the engine thrusters were blown out and horribly twisted like some sort of art sculpture gone haywire. In short it was an absolute wreck.

Surrounding the sad remains of the battleship was a small defensive position which showed signs of both hasty construction and extensive use. Two misshapen bunkers stood, all but painted in the ooze and gore of the Zerg, their corpses littering the area around the crash. Three goliaths, their armor dented and cracked, looking a hair away from being non-functional made swaying patrols around the ship, their exteriors also sporting a thick coating of the alien's noxious innards. Right in the middle of all of that was a somewhat half-assed command tent that had seen better days. Splatters of blood decorated it and long jagged claw marks ripped in the fabric served as both extra windows and an all natural air conditioning system.

"Well we made it," Beranger said aloud, not sounding pleased, "Which sucks Rhynadon scrotum if ya ask me. So let's get this over with already." He gave a wave to the Goliath and Vulture pilots, "Y'all circle round an' keep an eye out. There could be more Zerg creepin' around here. You let us know if ya see somethin' ya hear?" The walkers and bikes split up, scaling back up the deep trail leading into the crater and began to spread out, whilst the infantry proceeded onward.

The area surrounding the crash was more or less flat; the battlecruiser colliding with the ground had pretty much flattened the whole area, so there was no chance for the defenders of the ship to miss the mass of marines and firebats approaching. Yet not a single challenge was issued; the bunkers remained silent, the Goliaths didn't load their cannons, nothing. It wasn't until the force approached the command tent did anyone notice. And that was only one someone, a single marine in the tent.

He looked to be almost dozing when he finally glanced around and saw the crowd just outside. He jumped with a start but leapt up, hefting his gun, training its muzzle towards the approaching troop.

"Hold up! Nobody gets past me while I'm still standin'!" The solitary marine looked exhausted yet his expression still spoke of grim dead-set fortitude. Although his intimidation was lessened by the fact that he was surrounded by a rather impressive attack force. Nonetheless, he didn't flinch or back down.

"Ease up soldier," Raynor calmed the marine, "We're the cavalry."

"Oh yeah, an' what outfit are y'all with?" the man demanded, looking the unfamiliar unit over with a leery eye.

"Do ya _really_ give shit?" Marcus asked, "We're here ta rescue you boys, an' that's that." The soldier studied him for a moment more before putting his gun down, giving a tired grin.

"You're right…I _don't_ really give a shit."

"What's ya name son?" Beranger demanded.

"Private Conrad Mills. Folks around here call me Red Wagon."

"Conrad Mills?" Johnny inquired, "As in the little red wagon killer?" Conrad flashed what could only be described as an unhinged grin.

"The very same."

Even Logan had heard of the famed "Little Red Wagon Killer". A nameless faceless maniac on Tarsonis, who had gone around killing people at random. He earned his nickname when the victims were discovered, their severed heads sitting neatly in a child's red wagon. No trace had ever been found of the bodies, many speculating the killer had melted them, eaten them, or perhaps worse. For weeks, the Confederate security teams had no leads or clues or suspects, and things were looking grim.

Finally after searching the corrupt underbelly of the planet, Conrad Mills was found, arrested, and supposedly sentenced to immediate death. Nobody knew why he did it or even what the significance of the wagon's were. At his sentencing he wouldn't answer; even as he was being bludgeoned by the cudgels of guards he only sat there, grinning. If this was indeed the very same man, than he was a lunatic with little equal.

"Suppose it makes sense," Raynor surmised, dismissing it, "Them Blood Hawks get all the craziest nutjobs for themselves."

Interrupting the conversation was a hiss of static from the command post, as a voice blared out.

"This is the Norad II, defense team where's yer status report?"

Conrad glanced back into the tent and turned to go convey the situation to the high command but old man Beranger breezed past him and scooped up the mike before he could even protest.

"Sorry but yer patrol team can't come ta the phone right now, they're too tired 'cause their commanding officer is a major prick." A symphony of static followed for a few tense moments, followed by a gruff and unthankful voice barking out of the radio.

"Who is this? Identify yourselves!"

"We're called the Son's of Korhal sweet-pea," Beranger growled back, "Just thought we'd come say howdy an' maybe pull yer miserable ass outta the fire." He then covered the microphone with his hand, before grumbling to himself, "Goddamn I hate that ratty voice of his."

Silence was all that came out of the radio for about a minute and everyone was wondering if Duke was perhaps doing an infuriated dance of wrath, pissed beyond reason that his enemies, not his Confederate allies, had been the ones to show up to rescue him. Finally the monitor attached to the communications array hummed and clicked on, as a picture was being transmitted.

"Y'all are about the last folks I expected to show up…" the image that wavered across the screen was of Duke, the ornery old bastard himself, sitting in the captain's chair of the Norad II, the bridge of the vessel mangled with the damage of the crash. Smoke and sparks of shorted out wires flickered, the numerous stations which normally would be manned by an able-bodied crew were vacant; even the captain's chair, a sign of power and authority, was leaning notably. He sat cross-armed with a deep scowl on his wrinkled face, trying to appear calm and in control. Though one look at his once proud flagship would tell anyone that at that precise moment, General Duke wasn't General of shit.

"What's your angle here Mengsk?"

Raynor was listening from behind, but at this he stepped up, his face turning a vibrant shade of red as he snatched the mike and hollered, "Our angle? I'll give you an _angle_ you slimy piece of Confederate shi…"

"Jim, enough!" Arcturus's smooth yet firm voice flooded from the radio, silencing Raynor," I'll handle this." Everyone wondered how he had merely broken into the conversation with no prior warning. Perhaps he had been listening to all radio chatter from the start. They could hear him clearing his throat and one could imagine him straightening his attire and appearance in preparation of him launching into his politician and businessman speech.

"The Confederacy is falling apart Duke, its colonies are in open revolt, the Zerg are rampaging unchecked…what would have happened here today if we _hadn't_ shown up?"

"You're point?" The disdain from Duke's voice was so heavy it was nearly visible. Mengsk didn't let it faze him.

"I'm offering you a choice. You can go back to the Confederacy and lose, or you can join us and save our entire race from being overrun by the Zerg, I don't think it's a difficult decision." On the screen, Duke's face jumped at that, first twisting towards surprise, followed rapidly by contempt.

"Join forces? With _you_? I'm a general for god's sake!"

"A general without an army," Arcturus countered, "I'm offering you a position in my cabinet…Not just some backwater post. Don't test my patience…Edmund." Duke sat, quiet, biting his lip, eyes narrowed. No doubt his arrogant yet calculating mind was weighing the pros and cons of the offer before him. At last, he grunted a sigh, stood up, trying to make himself look as dignified as he could on his now ruined bridge.

"Alright Mengsk, you got a deal."

"You've made the right choice, General Duke." As he said this, one could easily imagine a smug look of triumph on Arcturus's face.

"I can't believe you're really going to trust this snake." Raynor spoke into the radio, sounding very dissatisfied with the newest addition to the Sons of Korhal, knowing full well that Duke could hear him. Arcturus responded with a reassuring chuckle.

"Don't worry Jim. He's _our_ snake now."

So that was it. By being shrewd and patient, striking at a critical moment, Arcturus had won a major victory over the Confederacy, having wrestled one of their most seasoned veterans and a leader of one of their finest units into his service. The loss of Alpha Squadron as a whole would be a blow that the Confederates would not easily be able to shake off. And speaking of the Blood Hawks, since the Zerg threat had been neutralized, the defenders around the wrecked ship could finally breathe easy, the menace of hammering attacks no longer existed thanks to their new allies. Several marines came crawling out of the bunkers, the pilots of the Goliaths left their walkers to stretch, and a number of soldiers came out of the Norad II itself.

The Blood Hawks and the Son's of Korhal forces looked one another over, having only minutes ago been enemies. There was understandably a tension between the two factions. For the most part anyways.

"Well shit on biscuits with a side of hash browns," one of the Blood Hawk marine's burst out, "Look who it is! Ol' Stoneman and…shit, you too Johnny? God-all-damn, if this ain't the biggest kick in the fuckin' nuts that I've had all week! Get your asses over here boys, what the hell are you two shitheads doin' out here?"

Logan was a little surprised by the vibrancy of the greeting, not having any clue as to who at this remote backwater place would know him, or Johnny for that matter. But then…he remembered…one of the few people who had called him Stoneman. And who would have been with the Blood Hawks…

"Jack Crazy Man Riley," Logan grinned, recognizing the demented grin of hardest and most fucked up man to have ever graced The Bottomless Pit's cells, "Well if this doesn't beat it all. How the hell are you, you damn schizoid?"

"Kick-ass more or less. But shit, what the fuck are ya boys doin' together? Ya develop a crush on each other while I'm not lookin'?"

"Fuck you," Johnny snorted with his own crooked smile, "An' of course we're together you dumb shit, we were sent to the same place."

"Yeah whatever monkey-boy. Christ shittin' gravy, I heard ya boys got stuffed inta some super killin' machine unit! Goddamn, y'all are gettin' all the fuckin' fun!"

"Not really fun for me," Logan shrugged, "But since I'm more or less stuck, I'll tough it out. Though I'd bet you'd be a lot happier here than me."

"That's goddamn right! You're too anal Stone, I've been tellin' ya that fer years, not cut out for killin'. An' yer right…I'd be a perfect candidate fer that shit. These Blood Hawk boys think their hot shit but they don't got no balls ta be grade A killing machine psychos. Kinda bums a lunatic out."

"Well if you think you're crazy enough, maybe you should try and join our unit. We're two men short of a full squad and maybe we need an asshole like you."

"Hot motherfuckin' damn, ya serious? Shit, rollin' with y'all in some ravin' insane bunch? Now that's my idea of a good ol' time. Who's in charge of ya unit, Stoney, just point the son of a bitch out!"

"That'd be me partner," Marcus stepped up, looking him over, "You tough soldier?" That must have tickled Jack's funny bone something fierce as he threw his head back, as far back as he could reach in his armor anyhow, and roared laughter.

"Fuck yeah I'm tough! There ain't no man alive that's tougher or meaner than Mr. Jack Riley. Why I'm so fuckin' nasty that even the most hardened ugly fuckin' killers run scared from me!"

"I've heard that shit before, from a lot of brave men. An' many of'em have been runnin' scared against these Zerg. Ya gonna be any different?"

"Pssh, you kiddin'? I don't give a flying fuck who I fight or why! In this job, I get ta kill people and aliens, puttin' all my skills ta use! So I says, the uglier the better! I'll frag'em an' make the universe a less disgustin' place! Just call it my soldier's duty!"

"I can vouch for him," Logan assured Marcus, "This guy here was a serious psycho on the outside and even in prison no one messed with him. He'd kill someone just for looking at him funny."

"Which reminds me," Jack gusted some more laughter, slapping Logan on the back, "I still gotta break ya in half one of these days Stone. I seem ta recall ya givin' me a funny look that time when we was playin' cards. Ya know, when ya got all sneaky on me and pulled out that poker face that looked like Johnny's ass! That shit busted up my concentration somethin' bad!"

"Shit," Johnny chuckle, "My ass is prettier than Stone's face."

"Well ya sound perfect," Marcus agreed, "Course that's assumin' ol' Duke don't change his mind on us. An' if we're allowed ta move men around, then it sounds good. Of course, we need to evac all of y'all outta here and bring ya into our fleet."

"'Bout damn time too," Jack slapped an iron hand across his stomach, "Stranded out here in Buttfuck Nowhere, a man can't get a decent meal! Or a beer! Bring on the beer!"


	12. Chill Time

**Note: Jesus I am really sorry that this took over a goddamn year to post. I'd bore you with the fine details, but suffice to say my computer broke, I lost a lot of stuff, and I'm just now getting things back on track. I know you don't want to hear my lame excuses; y'all came here to read. So have at and thanks a bunch.**

**Chapter 12:** Chill Time

Before long, a small fleet of dropships arrived; landing all around the now zerg-free crash site, the rescue team as well as the crew and commander of the Norad II were picked up and shuttled back to the primary Sons of Korhal command center. Duke and his boys were naturally sent to the infirmary, just to confirm they were in tolerable physical health, whilst 507 and all the marines were given a moments rest and allowed to step out of their combat suits.

Since their liberation, the Antigan forces had moved the majority of their military armaments to Mengsk's hidden camp, making his base of operations far more substantial and sprawling, adding in new military recruits as well as civilian contractors to build up his headquarters with fortifications and defenses.

Of course, said force was still little more than a rebel band, with an assortment of military units ranging from civilians in power armor, ragtag militia, and a few low grade ground vehicles. His fleet was mainly made up of transport ships, fighters and freighters. However, the addition of the Blood Hawks, as well as their asshole of a commander went a long way in boosting the Sons of Korhal's moral and would significantly pump up their military strength.

But incorporating such an expansive unit into the ragtag rebel force was going to take time; combining units of new soldiers with the current marines, transferring technology and data between a vast fleet of ships, an undoubtedly enormous amount of transcript paperwork to be filled out, in addition to probably another dozen procedures to be completed. Adding in that the Blood Hawks were the only real Confederate forces out on the fringe worlds, with them now allies, there wasn't currently a real opposition for the Sons of Korhal to fight against at the moment.

As a result only a few token platoons were kept on guard duty around the base camp, rotating every few hours, whilst the majority of the soldiers were given leave to be at ease. Considering their exemplary contributions and accomplishments in the campaign to rescue Duke and his men, 507 and the Troopers were among those that were allowed to unwind.

As the battered and battle-weary marines stumbled into the barrack, they nearly started brawls to be the first to get their armor removed, anxious to take a leak, take a nap, or get some chow. Logan wanted out of his suit to, but he wasn't all that interested in getting a metal fist in the face for his troubles. But that was before he realized that being a part of 507 gave him and the others special privileges. He watched as Colt, Gunner, and the others brush past the crowds, moving to the head of the lines for armor disassembly, with the throng of soldiers not even making a peep of objection.

Apparently by merely shooting a dark glare to the green rookies and militia flunkies, who were technically as new to combat as he himself was, Logan was able to get them to back away and let him pass. As a result of this perk, Logan and the members of 507 were among the first out of their combat suits, moving to the locker room to recover their civilian clothes and personal effects. As they changed, there was certainly a very hot topic circulating, stemmed from the results of the last mission.

"So…what?" Gunner asked around, haphazardly pulling bio-plugs from his skin, "We got them Blood Hawks joinin' us now? Shit, only a couple of days ago we were blastin' the sons of bitches. We just gonna open up our arms an' say "welcome boys!"? That don't sound real smart ta me. I doubt that asshole Duke meant even half of the crap he said. Just tryin' ta get his ass outta the fire."

"Less than that probably," Chaz surmised, "I've never believed one word outta that yahoo."

"So what's the plan?" Quentin demanded, "We're gonna get outta our suits and chill? An' what if Duke decides ta screws us all over while we got our dicks in hand…I don't like that idea…what's the move?"

"The next move's up ta the higher ups ta fuck with; what _we_ gotta do is start fillin' the ranks," Marcus informed them, running a hand over his matted fuzzy hair before plopping a ball cap on, "All that political jargon is somethin' we ain't got no say in. We may not like it, but we're soldiers sent out ta kill and be killed. There ain't no gettin' round that fact. So instead of obessin' 'bout what's gonna be happenin' at the big boys table, we need ta look at our own personal situation, as a unit. We're two men down here, like it or not; shit old man Beranger is down six or seven. If we're still gonna be the most hard-ass unit when shit hits the fan, then were gonna need the most crazy fucked up freaks that we can find to make us a dozen strong again."

"If we keep fighting the zerg like we've been doing," Logan commented, "then the crazier the better."

"I'd say that it's more than a possibility that we will be. I don't think them roaches are just gonna crawl inta a nearby hole and disappear. An' we'll just assume that by some goddamn miracle that Duke wasn't lying through his teeth an' _will_ be joinin' forces with us. That bein' said our selection of marine choices has just increased a ton."

"I say we pick that Mills guy," Burk interjected his opinion, "If he is who he says he is, then he'd fit right in with us. Hell, reading about that shit he pulled on Tarsonis…even got me a little weirded out."

"Well if that don't beat the bush-monkey's balls,' Cyrus hooted, nudging Burk with an elbow, "I didn't know you _could_ read."

"Fuck…you."

"An' that guy you boys were talkin' about," Marcus went on, looking at Logan and Johnny, "If he's that bad, he might be a good fit too."

"Better be quick about it Marcus," Colt advised, throwing on his regular clothes and lacing up his boots, "We need only two but if ya don't put yer pick fer candidates in early, someone like that crusty bastard Beranger will swipe all the good lunatics."

"Yer damn right I will," as Beranger himself strode past, flanked by Harvey Webber. He was already out of his suit, smoking a cigarette and heading out to the briefing room, "Don't think you ladies are the only ones that got owned out there. My Troopers are gonna need some new meat right quick."

"I got yer new meat right here ya old fart," a smart-ass Antigan boy named Charlie Turner hollered, using his still armored hand to grab hold of his bare crotch and give it a squeeze, a risky operation indeed. Beranger scowled and spat in the kid's general direction before moving on.

As each man finished changing, they moseyed out, splitting up and going their own way. There was no telling how long their downtime was going to last, a few hours probably, a few days, highly unlikely, so each man and woman went off swiftly to accomplish whatever aims they had on the brain.

Logan however, not having a whole hell of a lot to do, aside from the usual eat and sleep, made his way to the common room. Common was a very adequate way to describe it. It was a large almost empty space that held a few tables, a couple dozen chairs, three couches, four TV's, and a handful of bar stools, though sadly lacking the bar. This was a place of downtime, for marines that didn't head straight to the mess or retire to their bunks for some sleep. A room dedicated to the playing of cards, swapping of dirty jokes, telling of combat exploits, and just shooting the shit with their fellow soldiers. Logan had visited this room a few times before, more often than not engaging in some cards or just to chill on a couch. This time he noticed the place was more occupied than normal, with a number of marines that he hadn't seen before. Some of Duke's Blood Hawks most likely.

"Yo-ho Stone," came an all too familiar cry, prompting Logan to swivel his eyes round. True to his hunch, it was the infamous Jack Riley, fanatically waving his arm in an attempt to be spotted, "There you fuckin' are! Come on over here ya damn shit, I've been lookin' for ya!" Logan couldn't help but grin, giving his head the slightest of shakes as he strode forward to meet his friend. He sometimes just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that someone who seemed so friendly and gruffly cheerful could be a blood-thirsty crazed killer that was notorious for gouging out men's eyes and slicing off their gentiles if he didn't like them. _Takes all kinds_, he thought.

"Wonderin' where ya got to," Jack hooted as Logan approached his table, "With all that military bullshit they shove down our throats, I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to beat yer ass."

"Shit, you know I wouldn't miss out on that, armed forces protocol or not. Although I gotta admit, I didn't think you Blood Hawk boys would be brought into the camp so readily. After all, we were killing you guys less than a day ago."

"Weird how that crap is, ain't it. An' after that sweet-ass rescue you an' yer boys did, we all got shipped over ta this hole for medical examination and "mental reevaluation", whatever that shit means. Then they told us ta just hang out, waiting for the orders from the top brass on what the hell we're gonna be doin' now. Now me, I don't give a good goddamn about _who_ I'm shooting, so long as I'm shootin'. Rebels, Confederates, ugly ass aliens, it ain't no different, it's all good."

"So long as you're not shooting _me_," Logan told him, "Then I'm good too."

"Damn straight ya are, you've always been good Stone. So good in fact that I wanna introduce you ta some bastards that I've been rollin' with since we got sprung from that shithole prison."

For indeed, Jack wasn't alone at his table, two others sat with him, a man and a woman. The man looked pretty unremarkable if not unsightly, a tall sorta skinny guy, with severely dark brown hair, a gaunt face, semi-sunken eyes, and a somewhat jutting lower jaw, giving him a pooched lethargic look about him. He most certainly was not at all pleasant to look at and his sullen expression seemed to suggest that his demeanor was about as ugly as he was.

The woman however, once Logan looked at her, he couldn't stop looking. She was damn beautiful. Perhaps one of the shortest women he had ever seen, not even five feet tall, she was delightfully slender though perfectly filled, with short yet flowing dirty blonde hair and a set of coy yet firm gray eyes. Though what really drew Logan in to an almost irreversible degree were her lips; they were so soft looking, pouted and supple, with a bright rosy color that reminded him of apricot cherries. He had a hunch that she would taste just as good.

But despite her slight size and almost flawless gorgeousness, he wasn't so enraptured as to not notice that she had a poised and almost lethal look about her; that of a crouching predator who hid exceedingly well the fact that they were _easily_ ten times more vicious than they looked. Regardless, Logan couldn't really tear his gaze away, and though normally he wasn't usually one for gawking, in this instance he really couldn't help himself. Fortunately the lovely lady didn't seem to care; in fact she seemed to be looking back at him in about the same way.

"These are some of the fuckers in my unit," Jack went on, not having ever in his life discovered the fact that not every statement he made needed to be half-shouted, his voice booming and disrupting the calm atmosphere of the common room, "Some tough assholes, though with as much personality as my ass lint."

"Is that how you introduce me…private?" the petite beauty asked, as she reclined back in her chair, giving him a snide smile, "How about a little more refinement when introducing your superiors?"

"Well when ya put it like that ya stuck up bitch, I guess I _could_ make the effort. Stone, this here is _Miss_ Lieutenant Kathryn Vesper, though we just call her Ice cause she's cold as shit…An' I mean that literally too Stone…she's frostier than a piece of frozen shit. Ya ever seen that? Frozen shit? That crap's harder than fuckin' diamonds, seriously. Don't that shit sound fucked up?"

"Savory description as always you ass," Kathryn rolled her eyes, before fixing them upward onto Logan, looking him up and down with a leisurely intrigue.

"Yeah whatever, that refined enough for ya?"

"No, but since this strapping and handsome man now knows who I am, why don't you hurry up and tell me who _he_ is. And how a freak like _you_ has such a normal friend. Or even has a friend at all."

"Ahh ha hah ha, that's fuckin' hilarious ya cold-hearted skank; maybe ya got ta be lieutenant by makin' all them higher ups shit their pants laughin', instead of givin' them a crack at yer crack all the time."

"You get a kick out of calling your commanding officer a slut?"

"If it's true, then hell yeah! And since ya asked _real_ nice, this here is Mr. Logan Stone, a buddy of mine from back in the joint. Kinda a hard-ass but also a sissy boy too. Not like me, no sir, he's a whole different type."

"Logan hmm?" Kathryn seemed to muse, before standing and offering her hand. Logan was amazed that he had almost a foot and a half on her, yet somehow he got the notion that she could put him on the floor in a heartbeat should the mood strike her. He took her hand, so tiny and lithe, but her grip was hardly that of a frail damsel. "Quite the pleasure to meet you, Private Stone."

"The pleasure's most certainly mine," he assured her, "…lieutenant." She gave him an impish smile before casting a hand at an empty chair at their table. "Please…feel free to join our little group of misfits." Logan thanked her and sat down, pretending not to notice that the other man was eyeballing him, though not quite in the same way that Kathryn was.

"Bein' awfully friendly ain't ya?" the ugly man asked her, eyebrow raised. "Normally ya wouldn't have the time'o day fer anyone, least of all a rebel that was shootin' at us only yesterday. How come yer always a heartless bitch with us?" She wrinkled her nose and gave him a snort.

"That's because you and this yob," she jabbed a thumb at Jack, "are both idiots and uncultured goons. A woman needs to have some civility around her. Be it from an enemy or otherwise. I can't very well expect you two rejects to have anything sane or cultured to say about…well anything. Whereas _Logan_ here," she turned back to him resting her chin in a hand, smiling, "Seems to be quite polite and more intelligent than half of the Blood Hawks put together."

"That's goddamn right woman!" Jack interrupted, nudging Logan, "Stone here be smart as fuck an' we'd always save all that _nice_ sissy shit for him. By the way, ya see this asshole over here," Jack pointed to the creepy guy, "this queer is another man from prison, like us. Name's Tommy Green. Ya won't _believe_ some of the shit this fucker's pulled before."

"Tommy Green…I've heard of him," Logan assured Jack, knowing the name. Thomas Green was a killer just like Jack, though lacking in terms of the utter derangement. He was almost more of an assassin mercenary, supposedly very efficient and lethal. Logan had only heard his name on the TV, as they raved about him killing a number of Confederate officials, both military and civilian. _I_ _suppose there's no greater revenge than turning an enemy into an ally_, Logan thought, _not unlike me._

"So why is it just the three of you hanging out?" Logan asked the group, "Where's the rest of your unit?"

"Shit, there ain't no unit no more. We lost a whole ton of guy's to them aliens an' a lot more died in that fuckin' crash."

"And to _rebel_ attacks," Tommy strongly emphasizing the rebel part, making Logan hazard a guess that he wasn't very happy with the joining up with the Sons of Korhal arrangement.

"Those aliens don't have any manners," Kathryn almost pouted, twirling her silky hair as she seemed to recall the past encounters, "They're blood-thirsty, mindless, and they smell awful. Not unlike the remnants of my unit."

"Or mine," Logan concurred, "More balls than brains, but at least they kill zerg exceedingly well."

"Always a plus."

"Yeah," Jack broke in, "I've heard some shit 'bout them, big badasses the lot of'em. An'" he turned a wild grin towards the two with him, "If y'all don't know, I'll tell ya now that y'all won't be keepin' the pleasure of my company much longer. If things turn out good, I'll be joinin' up with Stone's crew here, a bunch of hardasses and killers; I'll feel right at home."

"Don't let the current situation go to your head," Kathryn instructed him, "Nothing's been decided as of yet. For all you know this is just a ploy Duke's using to wipe this place out," she then turned a coy eye over at Logan again, giving him a playful smirk, "If that _does_ happen, I think I'll coming looking for you _personally_…private."

"Ah hell," Jack all but whined, "That shit ain't fair! I've been tryin' ta get that frigid pussy of yers unlocked for fuckin' weeks now, an' suddenly ya thaw out an' want ta jump all over Stone here and bang his ass. What the fuck?"

"Aside from being handsome and well-spoken? He's nicer and more polite that you. Plus, he doesn't smell as bad and doesn't have the personality of an ass wart."

"Well damn, I can't argue with that, but I'm a hell'va lot tougher," he then reached up and slugged Logan on the arm, "Well, I guess that's just another reason I gotta kick your sorry ass all cross this planet one day Stone. Givin' me funny looks, gettin' into a better unit, gettin' ta kick more ass than me, and now stealin' my pussy; shit, yer gettin' a big ass list there Stone."

"And I'm not even getting started Jacky."

Logan hung out with Jack and company for about an hour, meeting some other Blood Hawks, introducing them to both Marcus and Johnny who came through the common room and just chewing the fat. It was good to talk with Jack again, not to mention being given ample time to openly flirt with the scrumptious Kathryn. Hell, if she had been any other woman, one without an officer's badge, he would have invited her out for a fun time. Her personality seemed to suggest that she would relish the opportunity, but both rank and procedure would most certainly not allow it.

"Military protocol really blows," he grunted as he returned to the barrack. As he had chatted, he felt himself getting tired and finally he had stood and bid them farewell.

"I gotta go. If I don't get some sleep, I'm gonna collapse. I'd best take advantage of this break while I can and catch up on some shuteye."

"Going to sleep?" Kathryn had mischievously sulked, pouting her lips in such a maddening way that it nearly made Logan break down, sweep the elfin woman into his arms and kiss her from Antiga Prime all the way to Tarsonis and back again, "You're no fun."

"Oh I'm a _lot_ of fun. But red tape isn't. I should know."

He found his bunk, nestled in the corner of the room, several other marines already taking it easy and resting as well. It was a dirty mattress that creaked at the slightest of shifts, adorned with stiff coarse blankets that felt akin to sandpaper, but as he lay down, it felt as though it was the most comfortable thing he had rested upon in what felt like seven weeks. Embracing the soft comfort of freedom of sleep, he rolled to face the wall and dozed off.

With him being dog tired after all the crap he had gone through, one would think he would have perhaps lapsed into an exhaustion coma for about a week or so. After all, killing all those zerg, hiking all over the place, and even mentally exercising himself, as everyone seemed to look to him to come up with plans to beat the zerg, was exhausting. Let alone the fact that they had been out in the field doing said activities for somewhere about thirty-six hours, with only about four to five of those hours being for sleep. So while he slept, for some reason or another he wasn't out for a particularly long time, waking back up only two hours later.

Upon opening his eyes, Logan sat up, checking the time and cursing when saw that it _wasn't_ a week later. He cursed even louder when he saw how pitiful an amount had elapsed since shutting his eyes. Unwilling to rise before he was damn good and ready, he lay back down, determined to get a minimum of six hours more before he even considered getting up.

But no matter what he did, short of beating his head against the wall to achieve unconsciousness, no matter what position he took, all the tossing and turning, counting sheep, it did nothing to help him find sweet slumber again.

"Fuck me," he growled, finally admitting defeat, "Even _I_ can't give myself a break."

Leaving his bunk behind, Logan stalked out of the barrack, only to wander between and around the buildings that made up the camp. As he was in transit, he paused to watch incoming dropships land over at the starports, observing as several siege tanks went rumbling by, and noted that a multitude of SCV's were hard at work building up new supply depots and military installations, expanding the base and subsequently, its defenses.

Logan eventually entered the primary command center, which served as the Sons of Korhal's nexus point for all their renegade activity. Normally, only officers and important officials were allowed entry, but Logan found himself in a rather benefited position. Being in 507, he was recognized as a senior member of the marine force, having a substantial amount of experience under his belt, as well as the ability to kick much ass. On these two principles alone, the guards of the command center, upon seeing his unit's insignia on his fatigues, they saluted and let him pass. He returned the salute and went in.

In all honesty, he had no reason to be there; there was no important briefing, no emergency or crisis. His feet had carried him there, for whatever reason. As he strolled down the halls, he paused and passed a few pleasantries with other marines, getting to know certain groups of them, most being Sons of Korhal veterans, a few green looking militia rookies in tow. Also, a few new faces he hadn't seen before, whose uniforms boldly proclaimed the Blood Hawks. As he past them, they nodded his way but didn't greet him with a smile or wave. Tensions and all. Despite that, many of them were carrying duffle-bags and crates, looking like they planned on staying for a time rather than just visiting for a spell.

"Guess Duke's joining up with us after all," Logan commented under his breath. As they past, on he went; the implications of the merger on his mind.

_I'd be good to have old Jack in the unit,_ he said to himself, _and maybe with the good general joining us, we aren't as far off from winning this thing. In all honesty, I don't think we would have lasted much longer if this didn't happen. But still, that leaves us with the problem of…_

"How's the soldier life treating you rookie?" a distinctly feminine voice asked him. Logan half jumped, thinking himself alone in the hallway, turned around and found himself looking square into a pair of very pretty auburn eyes. Said eyes belonged to a very pretty though equally tough woman, though this knockout was not the same one from back in the common room. This woman however was still right on the same level as the lieutenant in terms of sweet eye candy, yet this one he _did_ know.

"Elisa," he recalled her name, not having seen her since their stay aboard the Mar Sara prison ship; "It's been a while. How are you doing?"

"Hey," she pointed out with a smile, "I asked first. It's only right you answer my question before I answer yours."

"Right," he grinned, "Where are my manners? Well, it's tough, it's stressful, there's not a lot of thanks in for you, and there's always the risk of getting blow up or eaten by aliens. So…could be better I guess, but since I'm not sitting inside a zerg digestion track, it can't be all that bad."

"Yeah it's rough…" her grin slipped a few notches and a shadow slipped over her lovely face. "I…uh heard about your boss…Bennett. Sorry to hear it. He looked like a real soldier."

"He definitely was," Logan agreed, nodding, "The fella's of the unit are taking it pretty hard, harder than I thought a pack of lunatics would. I guess he was more than just their sergeant." He trailed off, then he tilted his head towards her, taking note of a patch on her sleeve.

"Well I'll be damned," he noted with surprise, "So you're in Beranger's Troopers now huh?" as he pointed to the insignia on her uniform, recognizing it as the symbol for the Son's of Korhal's most predominant unit.

"Oh…yeah," she studied her uniform's newest accoutrement, "I was on the list with a couple of dozen marines that were qualified to fill up the holes in the unit. I guess the old man saw something about me that fit what he was looking for. I know he's got high standards, so I figured I must be pretty good to make the cut."

As the two talked, Harvey Webber, the malformed shark-faced goon of a man who was now second in command of the Troopers, came clomping down the hall, pausing for a moment when he overheard them."

"Nah, being good ain't got nuthin' ta do with it, sweet ass," Harvey informed her with a lopsided grin, pointing a black fingernail towards Elisa's breasts, "Yer _tits_ got somethin' ta do with it; the old man's a pervert, he likes ta have marines with a really nice rack in his unit. Course that's just one of yer best features, hot stuff. Maybe ya an' me can get a private debriefin' in later at my place?"

Elisa promptly rolled her eyes, directing her middle finger towards the gawker, making Harvey assume a mock look of fear before strolling off gusting laughter.

"Pigs," she grunted, "Guess I shouldn't be surprised to hear it." She brushed it off before turning back to Logan again. "So where are you heading?"

"Me?" Logan shrugged, "I don't know. I just got up a few minutes ago; I've already been to the common room today…I guess I was just wandering around."

"Well I'm heading to the mess to get something to eat. Want to come with?" An almost guttural howl sounded from Logan's stomach, his own hunger yowling in response to Elisa's invitation.

"Time to feed the beast," he told her sheepishly, "So I guess that's a yes." And off he two marines went, heading to the nearby mess, which was pretty well packed with a whole slew of soldiers. Falling in line, they inched up towards the servers, craning their necks in an attempt to see what could possibly be making the line move so damn slowly.

"I was hearing about you again, you know."

"Huh?" Logan came back to himself, the smell of food making him realize that he was starving. "What?"

"You." Elisa repeated patiently, "I've been hearing about you again. Things you've been up to since we last talked."

"About me? Like what? And from who?"

"From Lieutenant Beranger, leader of the Troopers of course. And I've heard how you stepped up in your last assignment, leading everyone after the zerg, taking charge after you sergeant got killed and whipping your team into a frenzy afterwards."

"Well, we lost Bennett and Daemon to an ambush and the whole crew just sorta…fell apart. I just gave them a pep talk and threw out a few ideas on how to blow the crap out of the zerg without all of us ending up as roadkill. Not really worth mentioning. And certainly not worth other gossiping about."

"I love a man with a sense of modesty," she remarked, "To hear Beranger tell it, Duke and the Hawks would probably be zerg bait if you hadn't rose to the occasion like you did. There's even talk of a promotion for you."

"Okay, now _that_ is _way_ too much credit. I'm just a soldier; I fight when I need to and if the higher-ups need me to come up with a strategy, I'll put out my opinion, not that anyone will listen. I'm nothing special, believe me."

"Don't sell yourself short bro," a young marine ahead of them turned around, grinning, clearly having been eavesdropping, "I was down there too and I know what I saw. Everyone kept coming to you for advice and you were right in the thick of the fighting. Damn, you looked like _you_ were in charge of the operation."

"Thanks kid," Logan gave the young man a salute, kind of flattered that his name was getting around. Elisa watched him.

"Care to change your position now?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope."

They stood in line, watching and waiting. Finally they got close enough to grab a tray and shift down the line of food, taking helping from the sullen faced servers.

"What the hell?" Elisa wrinkled her nose as she looked over the near shapeless gel-like blobs that had been plopped onto her tray, "Is this what they call _food_? I feel like these things are going to start moving or something. Are we supposed to eat semi-sentient lifeforms?"

"Ah, that's nothing," Logan assured her, "In prison food, you'd be lucky to find only two or three live grubs in your meals."

"And you think that is something you need to tell to a woman right before she eats because…?"

"Because I see it as a sort of informative public service to all."

"Uh huh, well all things considered, I think I'll just have a sandwich." So saying, she spooned her goop onto Logan's tray before snatching up two tuna sandwiches and making a hasty retreat from the chow line, presumably to avoid future questionable sustenance. Logan followed and the two found a semi-empty table, sat, and began to munch on their respective meals.

"So…" Logan rolled his eyes over to the woman next to him, "What have you been up to lately?"

"You mean besides being part of a rebel faction who's trying to break down the largest organized government in the entire sector?"

"Naturally."

"Not much; I've been doing a lot of guard duty, I was part of an escort for Lieutenant Kerrigan, I took part in the attack of the Alpha Squadron strike force…nothing major really."

"Sounds like my service record."

"As if," she scoffed, "I don't have rescuing General Duke of the Blood Hawks and taking down hundreds of zerg on _my_ resume. I'm kinda jealous actually, that a newb like you could already be so distinguished after so short a time."

"It's not being distinguished," he insisted, "It's…merely being in the right situation at the right time."

"Well, happenstance or not, I wish that kind of crap happened to me more often."

"I'll tell you what, the next time a tidal wave of zerg comes rushing in to rend everything limb from limb, I'll trade places with you."

"It's a deal. So, where are you from?"

"You got a lot of questions," Logan grinned at her, "Been saving them up since we last talked or is this an informal interrogation?"

"Neither; I just figured I'd get to know the next commanding officer, that way I'm already in good standing with him and can secure myself a promotion."

"Cunning strategy."

"I like to keep my eyes on my future. So where did you come from? One of those colony boy's on Mar Sara that got set loose after Chau Sara was vaporized?"

"Not hardly. I'm originally from Tarsonis; I came along as a soldier for the Colonial Magistrate that was to oversee the Mar Sara colony. Then I got dragged into this crap, joining up with the Sons of Korhal and…well, Arcturus is trying to bring down the Confederacy. And since I fucking hate their guts, I joined along with the rest of my unit."

"Born and raised on Tarsonis…That's me too. I've been around to other colonies but I liked the city life, more my style. I'd probably still be there, stationed as part of an orbital platform defense unit or something but I was dispatched as part of a roving patrol to the fringe world colonies about three months back along with a few other garrisons. I was stuck at Mar Sara when I ran into the rest of you. I never thought a standard tour of duty would land me into a rebel coalition hell-bent on revolution."

"Yeah, kinda like how _I_ never thought I'd be allowed to leave prison only to jump into a unit of psychos, kill aliens, and then get to turn on the very same sons of bitches who threw me into that hell hole in the first place." Their conversation lapsed, as they both turned to eating, Elisa finishing her first sandwich and moving on to her second, while Logan ate the flavored paste globs that congealed on his tray.

"Now I got a question for you," he broke the silence finally, "after all, I'd think it'd be my turn by now."

"Well, I guess I'll allow it," she conceded jokingly, "Shoot."

"Alright…I was just wondering what twist of fate put you into the marines. A convict like me? Or were you brainwashed by all that Confederate patriot garbage and _encouraged_ to sign up?"

"Neither. I enlisted on my own accord without any cajoling."

"You mean…you just signed up to be in the military…because you just wanted to?"

"That's right."

"Wow," he gave his head a shake, spooning some gunk into his mouth, "The world's a crazy place..."

She gave him a furrowed expression, a half chewed lump of sandwich in her mouth, directing a confused look his way that seemed to ask him, _what the hell are you talking about?_

"Why's that so crazy?" she demanded.

"It seems strange, that's all. I mean, you probably could have done a _lot_ of things besides this. You seem smarter than about ninety-eight percent of all enlisted soldiers…not to mention you're really beautiful. I mean, just with _that_ you could have been _anything_ really."

"Oh yeah," her eyes rolled, "with my body I could have been a high class hooker on Tarsonis being paid a thousand credits per fuck." Her comment made several pleasing images swirl through Logan's mind, namely Elisa naked on some sprawling bed covered by a thin sheet of silk, her hair fanned out beneath her and a warm satisfied smile on her face. Needless to say, the thought provoked a grin.

"I can see that." Elisa shot a dirty glare over at him, seeing that licentious gleam in his eyes, prompting her to brandish her utensils at him.

"Yeah, keep that up smart-ass and what you'll _see_ next is my fork in your eye."

"Sorry. It's just…well, I don't get it. With all the options that must have been available to you…why choose _this_? Being a soldier, heading into war zones, possibly getting killed for nothing…I don't know, it just seems weird to me."

"Yeah well, _I_ find it weird that a guy who had been in prison wouldn't be thrilled to do this kind of job, so there you go."

"Wait…what? What the hell does me having been in prison have _anything_ to do with why I should be enjoying this sort of job?"

"Most of the men from my former units were convicts too," Elisa explained, "Some real hardass guy's; killers, thieves, I even knew a former drug kingpin. Most criminals tend to take to violent tasks willingly. Really, it's kinda logical to put a gun into the hands of someone who knows how to use it...provided they've been Resocialized before setting them loose."

"I find it interesting that you keep lumping _me_ together with drug lords and murderers," Logan answered, a bit miffed.

"Well you _are_ a criminal aren't you? That's why you _were_ in prison."

"From what I've seen, there are two types put into jail. The first being the lunatic or felon that actually broke the law and who did something to deserve it. And then the other, people who did nothing save cross the pricks in the Confederacy who thought it best that person disappears for whatever reason. I unfortunately fall into the latter category."

"So…" Elisa's brow furrowed as she pieced together what Logan was saying, "You were convicted of killing…"

"Barkley, Captain William Barkley."

"And you never did?"

"That's right. Supposedly I'd killed him for some undisclosed reason, at least that's what official reports said I believe."

"Undisclosed?"

"That's the Confederate's creative way of saying that they have no plausible reason for _why_ I'd kill him, yet still pinning the blame on me nonetheless. In truth, I was railroaded for exposing a Confederate genetics operation. I had uncovered it accidentally in another assignment I was on and I learned that…well, a real close friend had been hauled off there. So I went after her, causing a lot of trouble as I did it. I'm guilty of punching Captain Barkley in the face, stealing his ship, and landing in a no-trespassing zone. But since I had seen _way_ too much, it was decided that I never get the opportunity to tell anyone about…ever. So, I was sentenced to life in prison and hauled away. That was two and a half years ago."

"You mean," Elisa was gaping now, "you were thrown into a cell just because of some Confederate backroom political horseshit?"

"That's what I mean."

"Goddamn," she swore, shaking her head, "Now I'm _really_ glad I decided to join up with these guys…that is just…fucked up. In so many ways too."

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. The _really_ messed up shit is even more disturbing…" He trailed off and his somber expression was thankfully ruptured by a well-timed belch. The gastric emission did wonders to lighten the mood, and even better, swing the conversation away from his problem-filled past and brought it back up to current events, namely, eating lunch in the mess hall.

"Well," he glanced down at his now vacant meal tray, "I'd say I'm done here. Now I feel like walking off all that food. How about you?" Elisa still wore a thoughtful expression, probably thinking on what Logan had told her. After a moment, her eyes focused and she looked his way once more.

"Yeah…that sounds good." They rose, dumping their trash and exited the mess, walking shoulder to shoulder, their pairing prompting numerous catcalls and lustful sound effects from the cluster of military personal still downing their food.

"Oh before I forget," Logan recalled, ignoring all the juvenile noise from behind him, "don't think for a minute that I didn't notice that you cleverly shifted that conversation back there away from you. I'll still want my answer sometime."

"What are you babbling about now?"

"I asked what could possibly possess a good-looking woman like you to join up into the military. And I haven't got an answer."

"That's bullshit; I'm not telling you that."

"Right, that's fair," he noted, "After you asked me half a million questions, I can't get an answer to the _one_ I asked."

"I see you were counting," she grinned.

"Of course. So…" he leaned down to look her in the face as they walked, putting on his best nosy and bright-eyed inquisitive stare, until she burst out laughing.

"Jeez, stop that! You look like a deranged squirrel or something. Shit, fine already. If you must know…"

"Barnes!" a sharp call behind them tore into their exchange. Elisa and Logan turned to see old man Beranger stalking up to them. Elisa immediately saluted at the officer's approach. Beranger nodded at her before giving Logan what was known as the piercing eye, an unflinching and quite unfriendly stare.

"An' where's _yer_ salute at boy? Ya so important now that ya think ya don't gotta salute a commandin' officer?" Logan followed suit, doing his best to mimic Elisa's brisk salute, which looked a bit awkward by comparison.

"Sorry sir," he shrugged, "I'm not really on the ball today."

"Stow the excuses son," he growled before facing Elisa again, "Private, report to the Troopers barrack on the double, we're gettin' suited up for a reassessment inspection or some such crap. Shiftin' us all round ta make room for Duke's little angels. A gigantic pain in tha ass, but that's how this shit is done."

"Yes sir," she saluted again. Logan however was less than thrilled at the news.

"That wasn't a lot of downtime," he pointed out, getting Beranger to swing his scowl back at him.

"Well that's too fuckin' bad, ain't it? Shit, you whine a lot boy…" he glanced between the two of them, "Which one of ya was the woman again; cause fuck me if I can't tell the difference." Before waiting for an answer, he brushed past them and went on his way.

"You'd best run along too newb," he glanced back to Logan, "the reassignment is effective to all units. We're all gettin' shaken up royally, ya'd best be ready ta move. From the sound of things, somethin' big is goin' down." When he was gone, Elisa faced Logan, straightening her hair and giving him a smile and a shrug.

"Well, it's been fun Logan. Thanks for the normal chat back there. And the normal company too. I guess I'll be seeing you later."

"Sooner rather than later probably. The Troopers seem to be hanging out with 507 a lot these days. Maybe you'll be able to follow me into one of those sticky situations that I land in that's got you so jealous."

"Hah," she laughed, giving him a wave as she departed, "It's a date."

**Second Note: Yes, I know, not a lot of blowing up stuff in this chapter, I just felt the need to delve a bit deeper into the characters. I'll be combining those two pleasing elements in the future. Also, I'd like to note that it will take me an infinitely less amount of time to update this again, so keep a weather eye open. Until then people, good luck and good hunting...**


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